


The Devil's Courtship

by NinjaSniperKitty



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Blood, But she gets revenge, Campaign spoilers in the last chapter, Curse of Strahd, Extremely one sided Strahd/Ireena, F/M, Gen, Ireena whump, Panic Attacks, Physical and Psychological Abuse, Rahadin is Strahd’s #1 wingman, Strahd "Incel" von Zarovich thinks the Dark Powers owe him a gf, Suicide Attempt, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:23:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22520155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaSniperKitty/pseuds/NinjaSniperKitty
Summary: The Devil shoots Ireena a teeth-baring smile. “The Dark Powers enjoy mocking me and pulling you from my grasp at the last moment, you see. I thought that I had tried everything, yet never have I tried having you come to me on your own free will. My hope is that if I do this the more traditional way and have you willingly give your heart to me, then perhaps fate will take pity and let me have that which I deserve.”Ireena is blackmailed into accompanying Strahd von Zarovich to Castle Ravenloft, where she is forced to navigate The Devil's idea of romance. However, Ireena has never been one to just sit back and wait for others to come to her rescue. She refuses to be some damsel in distress.
Comments: 20
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

A full moon looms far above the forest. Its light filters through the trees, illuminating the leaf-littered forest floor. Between the trees, Ireena can see the massive shapes of dire wolves darting in and out of sight. 

There is a snarl behind her. She turns in time to see a flash of ivory teeth and drool oozing from the creature’s open maw. Raising her long sword, she manages to slash at its muzzle. Blood sprays from the wound and the dire wolf lets out a pained yelp before falling back. It circles around and lunges again. 

Orange light illuminates the forest and the wolf is knocked back by a fire bolt. It falls to the ground, lifeless. The smell of burning fur and charred flesh fills the air. Ireena glances behind her to find their spell caster, Minerva, giving her a thumbs up.

“Ireena!” 

Another dire wolf lunges at her. A blade comes crashing down onto the creature and slices deep into the muscle of its back. She recognizes the sword—once her father’s, and now her brother Ismark’s. With a shout of her own, she takes advantage of the hit to bring her own sword down on the dire wolf’s neck. There is a sickening pop and another spray of blood as its spine is severed. With a boot to its shoulder, she jerks her blade free from its lifeless body.

She glances around for the next one. To her side, she hears a pained grunt coming from their paladin. Another wolf has pinned him to the ground, its paws planted on his chest as it snaps at his face. He has his hands on the beast’s chest, trying to keep as much distance between him and its razor-sharp teeth as possible.

Another fire bolt streaks through the air. It misses and lights a small patch of leaves on fire instead. 

Before Ireena can make it to her friend, a heavy weight crashes into her side and knocks her onto her back. The impact is enough to knock the wind out of her. She attempts to inhale sharply, but every breath feels as if her lungs are suddenly filled with cotton. The wolf leaps over her and instead charges for Minerva.

From the corner of her eye, she makes out the paladin finally heaving the wolf’s great weight off of his chest and struggling to stand up. The wolf regains its balance and attempts to claw at his face.

From the side, three arrows pierce the wolf’s chest. It turns its attention towards the source—their ranger—only for the paladin to gain enough space to cleave the dire wolf’s head free from its shoulders. 

After what feels like hours of her gasping like a fish out of water, the painful spasms in her chest finally subside and Ireena is able to push herself back onto her feet. She can feel a trickle of blood oozing from somewhere along her temple.

Minerva manages to kill the last of the dire wolves. Seven of the creatures’ bodies now litter the forest floor. At least the baron of Vallaki would pay handsomely for their heads…

“Unhand me, you fiend!” 

The panicked voice of Ismark captures Ireena’s attention. Readying her sword, she turns towards him, prepared to charge at another wolf if need be.

No more than 20 feet away stands Strahd von Zarovich, Lord of Barovia. His pale fingers are wrapped around Ismark’s throat, a bored-looking expression on his face even as Ismark pulls and scratches at the vampire's arms. Upon catching Ireena’s eyes, the corners of his thin lips turn up into a mockery of a smile.

“Ah! Finally, you are done with that little encounter. I was wondering how long I would have to hold onto poor Ismark here before you all noticed that he was not among you,” says Strahd. He tightens his grip slightly around Ismark's neck.

Ireena takes a step forward. She can feel panic beginning to bubble in her stomach. “Let go of him!” Ireena shouts. She readies her sword before her.

The Devil quirks an eyebrow at her. “You would brandish a weapon against your husband-to-be?”

A volley of arrows flies towards the vampire, only to be swatted away as if they are no more than flies. The Devil ignores the ranger and continues. “I have no desire to take the life of Ismark. I have nothing but respect for the new burgomaster of Barovia Village; after all, he will be family some day. However, if it came to it, I would not lose sleep if he were to, say, have his throat crushed here and now.”

_“What do you want?”_ Ireena shouts. Her face is growing hot. “Unhand my brother!”

Someone in their party shouts obscenities at The Devil, but Ireena cannot make out who past the sound of blood thrumming in her ears. 

The Devil shoots her a teeth-baring smile. “I'm so glad you asked, Ireena. I will trade Ismark's life for your willing cooperation. You will agree to ride back to Castle Ravenloft with me, and in exchange I shall release your brother.”

Ireena sneers at him. “And if I say no?”

“I haven't quite decided yet. Perhaps I will be merciful and crush his windpipe where he stands. Perhaps I will drink the life from his body and have him rise as one of my spawn.” Strahd shrugs. “The choice is yours.”

_“You are a monster! A sick monster!”_ Ireena shouts. She tries to hide the tremor in her voice; if The Devil becomes aware of how he is affecting her, then he wins. “Let go of him!” With a roar, she lifts her sword in two hands and dashes towards The Devil.

She is not sure what she is getting to accomplish by charging him. A part of her knows that it will be a paltry effort. The vampire had single-handedly brought legions of mercenaries to their knees. He had mastered the arcane as none in Barovia had before. Beasts and undead alike bowed to his will. Yet she couldn't sit by and do nothing! Ismark would do the same for her! 

Blood and adrenaline pound through her veins as she lets her instincts guide her. The paladin is at her heels. His sword gives off a bright light as he charges it with holy energy. Before her, wave after wave of arrows and fire bolts are unleashed upon The Devil. If they're lucky, maybe it can buy them enough time to—

Searing flames lick at her back. The force of the explosion behind her is enough to send her and the paladin flying forward. No longer able to keep her grasp, her sword flies off somewhere. Her breastplate drags against the earth as she skids forward. When her body finally stops, she is facedown in a pile of dirt. She can still feel the heat on the back of her scalp and neck. Looking up with a groan, she sees that she has stopped only a few feet away from The Devil himself, who is looking down at her with those damn lifeless eyes of his!

“Damn. I singed her hair…” Strahd mutters to himself. 

“Minerva!” She hears the ranger shriek behind her. Sitting up, she sees her cradling Minerva’s limp form on her lap. The surrounding earth is bare and scorched.

_“You bastard!”_ Ireena roars. Using her sword as a prop, she stands back up and fixes The Devil with the most spiteful look she can muster. Ismark is beating against The Devil's arms in an attempt to free himself.

“What is your decision, Ireena? I'm growing tired of standing here.” To emphasize the urgency of the matter, Strahd lifts Ismark up by the neck as if he weighs no more than a rag doll. Her brother lets out a strangled cry.

“Ireena,” he gasps, “don’t let him have you. Run! Do not worry about me!”

“Ismark!” His name comes out as a choked sob. No, she couldn't leave him! She couldn't let him become one of those undead _things!_ With another burst of energy, she charges The Devil. Before she can even raise her fists, Strahd points his free hand towards her and knocks her back to the ground with an unseen force.

“You're beautiful when you're angry,” Strahd comments with the slightest smirk. His grip around Ismark's neck tightens and the burgomaster writhes. “But I do not know how much longer Ismark can last. If you want your brother to live, I need a decision from you, Ireena.”

“Damn you!” Damn it all! Damn this cursed land that forces her hand to make decisions like this! “Fine! Release my brother and take me to that hell that you call home, Devil!” Ireena inhales sharply. “But if you think even for a moment that I will _ever_ be your bride then you are sorely mistaken!”

“Ireena, no!”

A grin—the shit-eating grin of a man who knows he has won—spreads across Strahd’s face. True to his word, he releases Ismark and throws him beside Ireena. His armor clangs against a rock as he lands. He gasps and reaches for his neck, scrabbling to loosen his armor’s gorget. Their eyes meet, and in them Ireena can see the sadness of a man who has lost all. 

_I lost my father, and now I have lost you._

She longs to reach out to him, to hug him and reassure him that everything will be okay despite the unbridled terror clawing at her chest, but a hand on her shoulder draws her attention away. The Devil reaches a hand down towards her. His touch on her shoulder feels like a death sentence.

“Come, Ireena.” The Devil raises his voice. ”Beucephalus, to me!”

There is a the sound of hooves quickly approaching. Ireena holds Ismark’s gaze, even as she takes Strahd's hand. She tries to etch his face into her memory. She doesn't know what the vampire has planned for her, but she fears forgetting what those closest to her look like. Did vampire spawn remember their past lives? If she were to be turned, perhaps it would be for the better for her to forget them, lest she be wracked with guilt for actions she has no control over.

“I will save you, Ireena. I promise you! I will not let him harm you! I promise!” Ireena can barely hear Ismark's strained words over the thunder of hoofbeats, but the pained look of determination in his blue eyes speaks more than words ever could.

With one last sidelong look at Ismark, at her friends, at Minerva’s unmoving body, she mounts the night mare.

———

The Barovian countryside blurs past. The flames from the unearthly horse’s mane and hooves cast an orange glow upon the earth before them as they race forward faster than any mortal horse she had ridden before. 

The Devil is seated behind her, far closer to her than she is comfortable with. His arms brush against her shoulders as he grips the reins. From this distance, she can feel the chill of his undead body. It seemingly creeps up and into her bones, causing a shiver to pass through her entire body.

Apparently sensing her discomfort, Strahd momentarily puts the reins in her hands to pull his cloak—and his arms—up and around her. It makes her skin crawl. 

“Don't touch me!” she hisses.

“You're shivering.”

“I'm fine!”

Strahd doesn’t pull away. Ireena inches as far up as she can on the saddle to put as much distance between them as possible. Gods, how she wishes she could have brought her own horse instead. Or that The Devil had brought a carriage. Giving her no other option but to ride horseback with him felt like a paltry attempt at trying to get close to her.

“Will it hurt?” Ireena shouts over the wind in her ears.

“Will what hurt, darling?”

“Being turned into one of your… _things?”_

“My _things_.” Strahd pauses. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“Isn’t that your plan, to turn me into one of your spawn so that you can force me to marry you?”

“Ah. No, not this time. I’ve tried turning your past reincarnations before—have nearly succeeded, too—to no avail. The Dark Powers enjoy mocking me and pulling you from my grasp at the last moment, you see. I've seemingly tried everything, yet never have I tried having you come to me on your own free will. My hope is that if I do this the more traditional way, have you willingly give your heart to me, then _maybe_ fate will take pity and let me have that which I have longed for.” His voice sounds wistful. Longing.

Ireena can barely believe the words coming out of his mouth! The audacity to speak of such things as love! To have put so much thought into this plan! “I will never love you, you vile creature!”

“We shall see. Even fear can turn to love with time, and I have nothing but time.”

The silence stretches on between them. They ride for what feels like an eternity to Ireena. She watches as the cobblestone streets outside of Vallaki turn to dirt trails. They turn to dense forest before she can see the shadow of Castle Ravenloft looming in the distance. From between the trees, Ireena can see yellow eyes following them. Having traced this path countless times, the night mare gallops up the incline to the castle at a lightning pace. 

Ireena has never been this close to the castle before. Back in Barovia Village, the castle was merely something in the background, a constant that the townspeople had grown used to. While they often spoke of the lord of Barovia’s home and what horrors waited within, nobody dared step close to the dark structure. The path leading to it was dangerous and infested with wolves. Those that did step foot onto the path often did not return.

Up close, Ireena can see just how worn the facade of the castle is. Wind and rain and snow have berated the stone until time had worn deep grooves into it. Mossy tendrils of ivy crawl up its side. Hoofprints have been worn into the dirt beneath them. Looking up, Ireena can barely see an end to the spires that pierce the sky. A red glow pulsates out from one of the spires, she notices.

They come to a stop just before the entrance of the castle. The Devil leads her inside the stone monolith. If it looked bad from the outside, it looks decrepit from the inside. Cobwebs cling to the walls and obscure faded ceiling frescoes. Whatever furniture is left—tables, chairs, suits of armor—is in shambles. An eerie gloom fills the castle and is only enhanced by the lack of lighting throughout. While the halls may have been beautiful before, time and a lack of care have left them worse for wear.

“Welcome to our home, Ireena.” With a flick of his hand, the doors before them fly open. The Devil leads her into a landing with impossibly high ceilings. Stone pillars stretch from floor to ceiling. Jutting from the walls are several stone gargoyles, their exaggerated faces sculpted into angry snarls. Ireena cannot help but feel as if their lifeless eyes follow her when she walks into the center of the hall. 

Off to the side stands a tall figure with pointed ears and mauve skin. He is dressed in a deep blue tunic—nobleman's clothing. His arms are crossed behind his back and he bows deeply as they stop before him.

“I suppose some introductions are in order. This is Rahadin, the chamberlain of Ravenloft. Rahadin, this is Ireena.”

“My lady,” Rahadin nods his head towards her. “I am honored to finally make your acquaintance.”

_Finally._ The word unsettles her. Just how much did The Devil speak of her? To his underlings, nonetheless? 

Strahd continues, “If you have any concerns during your stay here, I encourage you to speak with him. If you have any needs, anything at all that is within my power to give, I also encourage you to speak with him.” His gaze softens as it lands on her. “This is your home, Ireena, and I want your stay here to be a comfortable one.”

“My home is in Barovia Village with my brother,” Ireena bites back, not bothering to hide the disdain in her voice. 

“You are homesick. I understand. When I first came to Barovia, or in the midst of every war I fought in, I often longed for my homeland and boyhood home as well. In time, however, you will grow to see this castle as yours.”

Even from the outside, she could see how much of the castle’s infrastructure was crumbling. The castle looked as if it had not been cleaned for centuries. For someone who took so much pride in his domicile, he did a poor job of maintaining it.

“It is dark and disgusting here. The walls are crawling with insects. This is a crypt, not a home.” 

She notices the corners of Strahd's pleasant smile twitch the slightest bit at that. “Yes, well. If you are unhappy with the appearance of my castle, I invite you to decorate it to your heart’s content. As my wife, you will have plenty of time to play house in my absence. Rahadin,” Strahd turns his attention to the man—elf?—who has not moved from his spot, “would you be so kind as to escort my dear Ireena to her room whilst I continue making preparations for her arrival? While I would love nothing more than to spend more time with her, I'm sure she is exhausted after the long day she has had.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Ireena, tomorrow I shall give you a proper tour of the castle. Until then, I hope you have a restful night’s sleep.” The Devil steps towards her and reaches as if to grab her hand but reconsiders and Ireena counts her blessings. She cannot guarantee that she would not punch the vampire were he to even think about touching her.

For seemingly the first time since her arrival, Rahadin shifts and gestures towards a staircase in the east of the entrance hall. “My lady, please follow me. I will take you to your room.”

She refuses to look back as The Devil wishes her good night and follows Rahadin through the dilapidated castle. He leads her up several flights of stairs, through twisting hallways and rooms with dark ceilings, until Ireena can feel herself starting to perspire despite the heavy chill that rushes in through several cracked windows. The rooms are dark and Ireena finds that she can only navigate them via the sliver of moonlight that filters into them. Rahadin navigates them with the grace of a cat and the precision of someone who has walked the halls countless times. He leads her up a spiraling staircase much thinner than the ones she had clambered up previously. 

Upon reaching the landing, Ireena first notices a large picture of a man filling the western wall with long dark hair in nobleman’s clothes. The man resembles Strahd, yet his skin lacks the pallor of death. An ancient depiction of him as a mortal man, perhaps.

The next thing she notices is two women standing before them. One of the women stands in the middle of the hall, her arms crossed. The petite woman is clad in an elegant golden dress. A skull-like mask obscures the majority of her face. The second woman is less noticeable and stands off to the side. She is almost a head taller than the other ands wears a deep red gown. A red headscarf covers her short dark hair.

“Dear gods, give me the patience…” Ireena hears Rahadin murmur under his breath. “Good evening, ladies.”

“Hello, Rahadin.” The woman in the gold dress starts. “Who is this you've got with you?”

“Step aside, Volenta.”

“Aww, you're not going to introduce us to our new sister?” the woman pouts, exaggerated, and places her hands on her hips before turning her attention to Ireena. “As knife ears said, my name is Volenta von Zarovich. Behind me is Anastrasya. Who might you be, dear?”

“Ireena.”

“ _Ireena!”_ Volenta places a hand on her chest. “What a pretty name! Ireena, did you know that my husband has a portrait of a woman that looks _just_ like you hanging up in his study?”

Disgusting. Somehow, though, she is not surprised, Ireena thinks with a roll of her eyes. It is probably a portrait of Tatyana, her from a past life. She hopes, anyway. “You mentioned husband. Are you The Devil’s wife?”

“ _The Devil._ That's a name I haven't heard in years! But yes, as the term _husband_ would imply, I am Lord Strahd’s bride. As is Anastrasya, as is Ludmilla, who is a bore and decided not to join us today. My husband probably has more of us lurking in the catacombs. It gets hard to keep track of after a while.” Her expression is hidden behind the skull mask, yet there is a hint of sadness in her voice as she speaks.

Rahadin takes a step towards the woman. _“Step aside, Volenta,”_ he repeats behind gritted teeth. “Lord Strahd has asked that I show Lady Ireena to her room.”

“Oh, hush. We're just chatting civil-like. No harm in that. I can show Ireena to the _guest room,”_ she emphasizes the words, “after we are done talking. I'm sure she has many questions. Poor thing looks scared half to death!”

“I shall not ask again, woman.” Ireena notices Rahadin’s hand graze the hilt of a sword at his hip.

“You quit that! There is no need for violence, you old fuddy-duddy! Honestly, where are your manners?” Volenta addresses Ireena, ”Don't pay him any mind. He is _always_ this caustic.” Her voice drops, a grin playing at her lips. “Rahadin is upset because he knows he is the only one in this room whom Strahd wouldn’t fuck.”

“Mm, charming as ever, Volenta,” Rahadin replies with a quirk of a raven-colored eyebrow, seemingly unfazed. “I cannot _wait_ for my master to grow tired of your antics and entomb you in the catacombs with the others. Perhaps I will inform him of your impudence and how you belligerently refused to let the love of his life reach her quarters…”

“Strahd loves me!” Volenta screeches as a wild look appears in her eyes. She crouches down as if preparing to attack. “He would never—”

“Volenta, _enough!”_ The women in the red gown speaks up for the first time that night. She rises from the divan. Unlike Volenta, her poise exudes composure. “Let us leave.”

Volenta opens her mouth as if to speak, but quickly closes it. With a growl of frustration, she stomps past Rahadin, bumping into his shoulder as she passes and descends down the stairs. Anastrasya gives a departing nod of her head towards Ireena before following.

Once the two women are out of sight, Rahadin sighs loudly. His shoulders relax. “I apologize for that, my lady. Volenta is… quite the handful, you could say.”

“Their skin,” Ireena notes. “Are they… more of those bloodsucking _things?”_ All she needed was to worry about the possibility of _more_ creatures trying to drink her blood! She would be lucky if she could even get a wink of sleep tonight.

“Yes. However, they have been given strict orders by my master not to harm you, as has everything in this castle. Do not fear. Please, follow me.”

Rahadin leads her through an adjoined lounge filled with bookcases before they arrive at her room. The bedroom is a stark contrast to the rest of the castle; it is spotless and well decorated. _Someone was trying to make sure she was comfortable,_ she thinks _._ A canopied bed with sheets of black and gold sits against the far wall. A roaring hearth casts a warm glow on the rest of the room. There are two divans against the wall closest to her. Had the room not been located in this god forsaken castle, it would have been a place of luxury.

Rahadin stretches an arm out towards the room. “This will be your room, my lady. Should you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask. My master has said that you are more than welcome to explore this floor, but has strongly discouraged you from exploring the rest of the castle without a guide for your safety; there are several traps and… less than savory sights scattered about.”

_For her safety._ Sure. As if The Devil actually gave a damn about her and didn’t just want her for his own selfish gains. Dying in a spike trap would be preferable to being anywhere near the vampire if she was being honest.

“Do you need anything of me before I depart for the evening, my lady?”

“I need you to get me out of here,” Ireena replies with sarcasm in her voice. To kill Strahd. To bring back her father. To reunite her with her friends. Really, the list of things she needed of him was endless.

Rahadin is nonplussed. “That is something I cannot do, I'm afraid. In time, you will grow accustomed to your new life here. To my master. Until then, try and get some rest. You have a busy day tomorrow.” With another deep bow, Rahadin backs out of the room and closes the door behind him.

———

Her quarters are almost as large as the entire dining room at her father's manor. There is a walk-in closet attached to the room. Hanging in it are several gowns made with a variety of materials: satin gowns with delicate beadwork, form-fitting velvet gowns, gowns with more tulle than she knows what to do with. They are far fancier than anything she has ever worn in her life and in her size. (She doesn't want to think about that part.) There is not a single pair of trousers, however, much to Ireena’s disappointment.

She chooses to continue wearing her trusty breastplate. Damn it, she would sleep in it if she had to! At least it offered her some semblance of protection. There was no way she was going to wear the dresses that The Devil had no doubt picked out for her. No, she wouldn't give him that sick pleasure.

A large window overlooks the courtyard. In the distance, she can see the faintest glow of Barovia Village far below, so close yet seemingly so far away. If she could just escape, if she ran as hard as her legs could carry her, she could reach the safety of the village in no time at all. Grab a horse, flee to the high walls of Vallaki. It would at least buy her some time to think up a better plan.

She tries the windows. They do not budge. Steeling herself, Ireena takes a deep breath and kicks at a glass pane with all of her might. The reverb of her boot colliding with the glass, which, in fact, does _not_ break as normal glass would, almost causes her to lose balance. She tries again.

And again.

And again with a different pane.

With each hit, pain shoots up her legs and into her bones. It feels like kicking a stone wall! Upon impact, the window panes give off a faint blue light that ripples like water. It must be magic protecting the damn thing! Of course there's magic! With a roar of frustration, Ireena throws herself onto the bed. 

She needs to sleep. Needs to think straight before she can plan a proper escape.

Her entire body feels heavy with exhaustion yet sleep does not come. Her mind is too preoccupied with her own racing thoughts to find any rest. She lays there until the morning sun filters in through the windows of her room. 

She pretends to sleep as she hears a soft knock at her door, followed by the sound of the door creaking open. Footsteps approach the small table in her room and there is the tinkling of dishes being placed. The room suddenly feels ten degrees colder.

_Silence_. Something in her gut tells her that she is being stared at and she suppresses the shiver that threatens to creep up her body. At that moment she is grateful to have had the foresight to pull the sheets up to the bottom of her chin. 

_Gods, what if it is him?_ She dares not think of it, of the danger she could be in. Yet she refuses to open her eyes. No, it couldn't be him. He slept in the daytime. He wouldn’t be awake this early. Her breathing becomes heavier until it feels as if her chest is heaving. If the intruder notices, they do not say anything. 

One minute, then two until finally, _finally_ there's a sigh and the sound of footsteps leaving her room. Once she is absolutely certain that the door has closed behind them, she shoots up from the bed, clutching the sheets to her chest. She's fully clothed, yet having something to hold onto reassures her, even if just the slightest bit. It's better then nothing.

There's a plate of fruit, jam, and bread sitting on the table. Beside it sits a rose with the thorns along its stem removed. Her stomach growls and she is reminded of just how long it had been since she had eaten last. Surely The Devil would not try and poison her. He wanted her alive so that she could be his plaything, after all… And she did need her strength.

With a sigh, she concedes and moves to sit at the two-seated table.

An hour passes while she fills her belly and savors each bite of food as if they are her last. She explores the floor and commits the room layouts to memory. The adjoining room has three windows in it. Like her own room, they are all seemingly impenetrable and glow with that same damn blue light. 

There's a library that Ireena resigns herself to. Most of the literature is hundreds of years old, covering an expanse of topics from ancient politics to herbalism to philosophy. Despite their age, they are all well-preserved. Ireena picks one of interest— _On the History of Barovia—_ and makes herself comfortable on one of the chaises.


	2. Chapter 2

“ _ The Granite Soldier.  _ If you enjoy the works of Sadornov, I believe that you will like this collection of poetry. Volskaya has a certain way with words that is truly unparalleled in this century.”

Ireena inspects the cover of the book. The title of the book, severely faded with time, is hard to make out against the deep red of the cover. Despite this, the rest of the book appears to be well-preserved. The spine flips open easily. Somebody had loved this book.

Her eyes scan the page of the book. “Thank you, Rahadin.”

“I'll be interested to hear what you think of it; it's one of my favorites.” The dusk elf places a water pitcher on the small dining table in her room.

“I’ll start reading it tonight.” Gingerly as to not further damage the spine, Ireena closes the book and places it on the bedside table. Her attention is drawn to Rahadin, who is working on balancing the empty plate and tea cup from last night’s meal in one hand. His motions are quick and deliberate, his expression blank. His pinched features remind her a bit of a shrew, Ireena thinks with the smallest of smiles. “Why are you doing this?”

Rahadin quirks an eyebrow but does not avert his attention. “Doing what, my lady?”

“Cleaning. Surely there must be someone here more suitable for this than you.”

“I do whatever my lord Strahd asks of me. If he needs me to tend to you, then I shall forsake my duties as chamberlain to do so—even when that entails cleaning up after you, unfortunately. Besides,” he lifts his gaze, a coy expression on his face, “the last time one of the servants tried to change your chamber pot you screamed bloody murder at them.”

His definition of  _ servant  _ was a walking corpse! She had seen the undead in the castle and throughout her adventures throughout Barovia, but the sight of their rotting flesh and sightless eyes still made her feel ill. They were abominations and no amount of exposure would ever prepare her for such grisly sights.

Rahadin continues. “My lord is uncomfortable having his spawn waiting on you due to concerns for your safety. I told him of the little  _ incident  _ with Volenta earlier.”

“Yet it is improper for a man to be in a lady’s quarters.”

“There are no women in the castle that are not undead. Of the men, I am somehow the most civilized and  _ normal  _ looking. Unless you would like me to send  _ Cyrus  _ here in my stead.” He looks up at that to shoot her a sarcastic smile. She doesn't recall having met a Cyrus. “There is another child in the castle whose name I never bothered to learn. I suppose she could be a suitable handmaid, and yet as far as I am aware my lord has not called upon her services. 

“A child? Why is there a child here?” Whose child did The Devil steal? What was he planning on doing with her? The very implication makes her blood go cold in her veins.

“The sooner you learn to stop questioning my lord’s will,  _ child,  _ the better you will get along here,” Rahadin responds tersely. 

He goes back to working in silence, making several trips in and out of her room. Ireena’s thoughts drift back to the child, how she would very much like to meet her. Maybe the two of them could escape this wretched place together… She can only pray that The Devil did not have his eyes on turning her. As far as she was aware, the only cure for that bloodsucking curse was death. She very much did not want to have to kill a child.

With a sigh, Ireena sits up in her bed and lets her legs dangle over the side. “Tell me about yourself, Rahadin.”

The dusk elf’s body stiffens at that. His back is turned to her. “I am uncomfortable discussing myself.”

“I feel you know much about me but I know so little about you. If I am going to be stuck here, I feel I should know a little bit about the only people I will be interacting with.”

Rahadin sighs and resumes setting the table for her breakfast. “I was born outside of Barovia. I served King Barov many years ago when he conquered this land, and I became an honorary member of the Von Zarovich family. Since King Barov’s unfortunate passing, I have served Lord Strahd. One day, I will serve his children as well.”

_ That was mostly about Strahd’s family,  _ Ireena thinks with a frown. “What about your family?”

“The Von Zarovich family is my family,” he responds matter-of-factly.

“No, your biological family! I remember hearing mention of a group of elves living outside of Vallaki. Do you visit them often? Do you have any brothers or sisters? Any children of your own?”

Rahadin drops the tray he had been holding onto the table hard enough for it to rattle and fixes Ireena with a glare.  _ “The Von Zarovich family is my family.” _

“Okay, fine!” Ireena throws her hands up in exasperation.  _ A touchy subject!  _ “What about hobbies? What do you do in your free time?”

He goes back to placing her breakfast on the table. (Ireena swears she has not seen real butter in years. It makes her mouth water.) “I do not have  _ free time.  _ There is much to be done in Barovia.” The dusk elf is quiet for a moment before speaking up again. The tone of his voice is less condescending this time. “I enjoy reading and botany.”

_ Now they were getting somewhere!  _ “I never would have pegged you as having an interest in plants. Do you garden?” Ireena asks.

“Not anymore.”

“For my thirteenth year, my father bought me a beautiful potted dracaena. They are supposed to be easy to care for, yet I somehow managed to kill the poor thing in a month!”

“Mm. Caring for plants should not be left in the hands of human children.”

Something in the elf’s tone rubs Ireena the wrong way, something about the way he says _ human child _ with such an air of superiority. So much for friendly conversation...

Finished with placing the dishes, Rahadin straightens and tucks the tray beneath his arm. “Yes, well… My master has requested your presence at dinner tonight. Shall I tell him you will be in attendance?”

“No.” The last time she obliged The Devil, he snuck into her room while she was asleep. She did not owe him anything, and he was certainly not entitled to her company.

Rahadin frowns. “I urge you to reconsider. Dinner will not be brought to your room.”

“That's fine.” She'd gone longer without eating before.

Rahadin sighs and sets her with a look. “This little game of yours is growing quite tiresome. My master has all the time in the world to wait on you to come around. The sooner you put an end to this childish stubbornness, the better your life will be.” He continues, ”You should feel  _ honored  _ to be the item of his affection.” Rahadin takes a step towards her. “You could be lady of Barovia, Ireena. All of Barovia would be at your command. Don't you want to rise above your humble beginnings? To have real power? To be  _ immortal?”  _

Before Ireena even has time to protest, Rahadin turns his back to her and sets to leave. “Many would give anything to be in a position such as yours. Think about it.” With that, he closes the door behind him.

_ The nerve of that disgusting elf!  _ In a fit of rage, Ireena hurls a pillow at the door before throwing herself back onto the bed. She lays prone with one arm supporting her head.

Not an ounce of empathy could be found in this entire damned land—not here, not in Barovia Village, not anywhere. She wishes she could be back in her old home. She wishes her father was still alive. She wishes that she had never agreed to follow that group of travelers and had just stayed in Barovia Village with Ismark. The rest of the world could burn for all she cared!

She wishes she was thirteen again, back when The Devil was just a scary story her father would tell before the fireplace late at night and not the monster that would stake outside of the Burgomaster’s manor each and every night. She wishes she could feel the unbridled joy she had felt on her thirteenth birthday again upon her father handing her that little dracanae. Back when her biggest worry was trying to keep that damned plant alive.

Why her? Why? She hadn't asked for this life. She should be dancing and singing and reading and going on adventures and falling in love and raising a family of her own. Instead, she was stuck in a decrepit castle with a blood-sucking corpse who could not take no for an answer!

Ireena lets out a shriek of frustration that quickly tapers off into a sob.

——--

“Forgive me if I do not dine with you; many foods are not to my taste as they once were.”

She dares to lift her eyes to Strahd’s. Upon noticing her gaze, he straightens his posture slightly and smiles. The way the corners of his lips turn up looks unnatural, as if he has to force the muscles in his face to move. It makes her uncomfortable.

“Is the dinner to your liking?” Strahd asks. 

“Yes.”

He nods at the plate in front of her. “You've barely touched your food. Shall I have the help make you something else?” Strahd, for once in his life, Ireena imagines, seems genuinely concerned. His fingers are tapping restlessly against the mahogany table

“I do not have an appetite,” Ireena replies. The idea of Strahd’s  _ help  _ being anywhere near her food is enough to make her feel queasy.

“Very well. I will have Rahadin save you a plate for later, then.” Strahd pauses for a moment, thinking, before he lifts his eyebrows at her. “Are lemon cakes still your favorite? I have never had much of a sweet tooth but I have heard of a bakery in Barovia Village—”

“The Daypike Bakery.”

“...Yes. Have you tried their lemon cakes?”

Ireena does not respond. The silence falls upon the room like a wet blanket. Finally, Strahd clears his throat and continues. “The owners of the bakery have a lemon tree in their backyard—quite the rare sight in Barovia as the weather has not been warm enough for the growth of citrus in centuries. After the fog swept over Barovia, many of the fruit crops began to wither away.” Strahd sweeps his hands outwards. “The idea of my dear Tatyana going without her favorite dessert upon her inevitable return weighed upon me greatly. I visited the property and—”

“I'm retiring to my room for the evening.” Ireena quickly stands up from her seat, the legs of her chair screeching against the stone floor.

“So soon? Let me escort you—”

“I'm fine. Good night,  _ elder. _ ” She turns around and does not even bother to judge Strahd's reaction as she walks toward the stairwell of the castle.

“Good night, Ireena,” Strahd calls after her. His low voice echoes off of the stone walls of the castles and fills the hallway as her walk turns into a brisk jog.

\------

She sleeps fitfully that night. Her dreams—nightmares—are filled with images of shadowy creatures, their long fingers always reaching for her. As she runs, their fingers only stretch longer until they wrap around her body and fill her lungs. 

She shoots up from her bed with a gasp. A cold sweat has caused the shirt beneath her armor to cling to her body. She shivers against the intense chill of the room. The cold stone on her bare feet offers no reprieve as she goes to light the lantern on her bedside table.

There is no candle or basin in which to hold oil. Instead, a blue light flickers on as her fingers graze the metal frame of the lantern. The room becomes washed in an eerie blue glow. Dark shadows fill the room, and Ireena cannot help the chill that runs up her spine. 

As she lifts the lantern, the light falls upon a plate that had not been sitting on her vanity previously. Upon closer inspection, she can see that there are three neatly sliced squares of what appears to be cake on the plate. A blue-washed rose, its thorns removed, sits beside them.

_ How dare he!  _ Ireena swipes the plate off of the vanity and sends it shattering to the floor. She stares at the shards of porcelain that litter the floor.

There is a knock at her door. “My lady?” a voice calls out.

Ireena storms over to the door, being careful to step over the jagged pieces on the floor, and throws it open. Rahadin is standing there, his face a blank mask.

“Is everything alright?” He asks. “I heard the sound of something crashing.”

Ireena can the blood in her veins starting to boil. Her face feels hot. She jabs a finger at the elf. “Tell your  _ master  _ that it is incredibly rude to enter a lady’s bedchamber at night! This is the second, m-maybe even the  _ third  _ time that he has done this!”

Rahadin looks past her and his eyes fall upon the broken plate. He raises a single eyebrow at her, nonplussed. "Shall I tell him you did not enjoy the gifts as well?"

"Yes! Especially when they're put there while I'm asleep!" Ireena's voice breaks, but she continues. "He could have bit me, or touched me, o-or any number of rude things and I would not have even known it!" Heat is rising in her face and she can begin to feel the prick of tears in her eyes. She chokes down a deep breath, not wanting the elf to see her emotional.

Rahadin starts, slowly, "Despite his, ah, nature, I can promise you that my master would never intentionally harm you. His ways may seem... odd at times, but he means well and only wants to ensure his and your happiness, my lady."

"Never harm me?" Ireena pulls the collar of her undershirt aside to show off the two inflamed puncture wounds on her neck. The surrounding flesh is still hot to the touch despite it having occurred weeks ago. "He's drank my blood before! Twice!"

"I can assure you that the process is harmless."

"Stop defending this... this uncouth behavior!" Ireena shouts, not caring how many people—creatures—she wakes up. "If he wants to ensure my happiness, then he can start by letting me out of this damned castle so I may live out the rest of my miserable life in peace!" With that, she slams the door in Rahadin's face. Ireena waits, listening, until she finally hears the sound of Rahadin's footsteps going away.

With a heavy heart, she kneels down and begins to pick up the shattered pieces of porcelain off the ground. 

  
  


——-

Despite Rahadin’s warnings, Ireena decides to explore the castle. It wasn't as if he said she couldn't—not that she would care if he had, anyway. Just that it was strongly discouraged. For her safety or some terrible excuse. Either she would learn more about her prison and information for a potential escape or she would die by stumbling into some trap. Either option was preferable over her staying cooped up in her room all day.

She decides to explore at night when the castle’s occupants would otherwise assume she is asleep. It gives her the option of hiding in the shadows, she thinks, if worse comes to worse. Ideally, The Devil would be out on business and his lackey would be asleep. Not that she could be that lucky, but she could dream.

With lantern in hand, she dares to creep down the stairs conjoined to the study. The first floor would be a good place to start, she thinks. She could begin to learn where the doors and exits were. During their tour, she had no doubt that The Devil had not shown her the vast majority of the massive castle and only what he wanted her to see.

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, she sees a young man sitting on the banister of a staircase. Upon noticing her, he immediately perks up. “Hello there,” he offers with a smile. He's a handsome man, no older than his mid-twenties. Long blonde hair tumbles down his shoulders. He's clad in a deep purple robe that drapes across the banister, revealing the swath of pale flesh upon his bare legs

Ireena fixes him with a suspicious look; just as how angels did not dwell in the Nine Hells, people of good character didn't stay in Castle Ravenloft. “Hello,” she offers cautiously, not bothering to mask the apprehension in her voice. Did he know she was not supposed to leave her room? She walks down the rest of the stairs and stands before him.

“I don't think I've seen you around here before. My name’s Escher.” With the grace of a cat, he hops off of the bannister beside her. He extends a hand; Ireena doesn't take it. 

“Do you live here, Escher?”

“No. My home is—was—in Krezk. I travel frequently, but I do spend much of my time here.”

“Why? Why spend time here when you have the ability to go as you please?” Her voice comes out harsher than she had been anticipating.

Escher seems to think about that for a moment. “Why not? There’s all I can drink here, and Strahd offers protection I would not be able to find anywhere else. Besides, it sure beats staying in a rundown inn every night.”

“So you’re a friend of The Devil’s?”

Escher shrugs. ”You could say that. At least, I thought I was. I'm not so sure anymore.”

Ireena narrows her eyes at the man. “What does that mean?”

“Like many, I was captivated by Strahd. I was not aware of his…  _ blood thirsty  _ nature, however, and he took advantage of me. I was turned shortly after.”

“You're undead, then?”

“You ask an awful lot of questions for someone who still has yet to introduce themselves.” There is a playful smirk on Escher’s face. “Let's try this again. Hello, my name is Escher. To whom do I owe this pleasure?” He sticks a hand out again, waiting.

Ireena contemplates whether or not she wants to give him her name. If he was one of those creatures—which would explain the pale skin and why he was in Strahd's company in the first place—then he was no better than the other wicked creatures crawling throughout the castle. However, if he was turned against his will as he said, maybe they were both creatures of happenstance. 

“Ireena.” Hesitantly, she takes his hand. His flesh is cold to the touch, yet his handshake is firm.

“ _ The  _ Ireena?” Escher pulls his hand away to place it on his chest in mock surprise. “I've heard much about you!”

She rolls her eyes. ”All of it good, I'm sure.”

“Annoyingly so. You and that other woman—Tat-something—are all he talks about.” There's a caustic tone to his voice. “What brings you to our little neck of the woods, Ireena?”

“Like you, I didn't have much choice in the matter.”

Escher crosses his arms. ”And yet I can tell you are not undead. Kidnapped, then?”

“Something like that.”

“Mm. I am sorry to hear that this has happened to you. Strahd can be a bit…  _ uncouth  _ at times. Once you are turned, however, your previous life will matter little to you if that's any consolation.”

She wasn't planning on staying around long enough to be turned into one of those  _ things,  _ if she could help it. “I do not want to be turned. I would like to leave and return to my family.”

To her surprise, Escher scoffs. “To be completely honest, I would like you to leave as well.” His gaze drops for just a moment. “Strahd has enough play things as it is.”

It’s worth a shot. Ireena fixes Escher with a pleading gaze and lowers get voice to a whisper. “Escher, could you help me escape?” Despite him being a vampire, Ireena pleads to The Morning Lord that he has some semblance of a heart left.

“That's asking an awful lot of me. Should my lord find out, it would certainly be my head on a pike.”

Ireena takes a deep breath. Her eyes dart around the room, looking for any indication that  _ he  _ could be listening in. “Then it is a good thing that he would not have to know.”

Escher’s thin eyebrows furrow in contemplation. He is silent for several moments, as if thinking. As he opens his mouth, a voice, loud but deceptively calm, fills the room.

_ “Oh, I would find a punishment far worse than beheading; I typically reserve that spectacle for thieves as it tends to strike fear in the hearts of the commoners. No, the finality of death is the easy way out.” _

As if from thin air, The Devil steps out of the shadows behind Escher and the vampire spawn almost jumps out of his skin. There is a brief look of panic on his face before being replaced with the calm facade from earlier. “Maybe for one who has not previously experienced death before. I did not find it to be a… particularly  _ enjoyable  _ experience.” The corners of his lips upturn as he turns to face Strahd. He bows in acknowledgement.

Strahd does not acknowledge the gesture. Ireena has to squint against the darkness to even make out the shape of the vampire. Finally, he steps further into the light of Ireena's lantern and does not stop walking until he is a mere arm length away from Escher. Judging by the scowl on his face, he is not amused in the slightest. 

“Now Escher, what did I tell you about speaking to my guests?”

Escher looks up at Strahd with huge blue eyes. They're dull, much like the eyes of the other undead she has seen around Barovia. “You told me not to speak to them. But I—”

“So you acknowledge that you disobeyed my direct orders?” His tone is the calm before the storm, Ireena knows.

“I mean, yes, but—” Escher stops himself and sighs. “I apologize, Master. I meant no harm to the girl. I suppose I just craved the conversation. I've been rather… lonely as of late, I suppose.”

Strahd holds his gaze for several moments. “Perhaps I have neglected you for too long.” Strahd cups the side of Escher’s face and the spawn is like putty in his hands. He sighs and leans into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut.

Ireena almost pities the touch-starved creature. Almost.

“What do you feel is a suitable punishment for belligerently going against my orders?”

“I—” Escher’s eyes shoot open and they are wide with fear. He swallows heavily. “Strahd, please. I beg of you. I won't do it again.”

“Oh, I'm certain you won't.” Nonchalant, Strahd tucks a piece of blonde hair behind Escher’s ear. “I’m still waiting on your answer.”

Escher is stuttering by this point. “I-I don't know. Strahd—”

Strahd turns his gaze to her and acknowledges Ireena for the first time. “Ireena, what do you feel would be a proper punishment for Escher here?”

The question catches her off-guard. She bears no ill will towards the creature besides the fact that he is one of  _ his  _ spawn. He had been nice enough to her, had even almost been helpful before The Devil showed up. And yet, he was still one of those blood-thirsty creatures, his free-will and conscience tainted by dark forces she could not even begin to comprehend.

He had said that he had been turned against his will, as most of The Devil's  _ children  _ were. Perhaps it would be a mercy to end his suffering, to free his tortured soul from this damned land. This live was not a life worth living...

“Kill him.”

Strahd’s eyebrows shoot towards his hairline, his dark eyes wide with surprise. He chuckles. “My, my,  _ Tatyana!  _ I never pegged you as the type. Has my dear Escher upset you so much as to demand his death?”

“How will I know that you are loyal to only me if others are warming your bed every night?” The words make her want to vomit.  _ A means to an end _ , she reminds herself.

Like that, he falls for the bait. It appears that her words have struck a nerve, as the expression on his face immediately drops into a solemn frown. “Of course I am loyal to only you; do not ever doubt that, my love. I have waited for you for centuries, and I will continue to wait for as long as necessary. The others were mere playthings—they mean nothing to me.”

“Then prove it to me.”

“Strahd…!” Escher’s voice cracks. The rising desperation in his voice is evident. “I have given you my life—my heart—blindly, yet now you cast me aside as if I am  _ worthless  _ to you?” He pauses for a moment and turns his attention to Ireena. His irises flash with anger. “This is all that bitch’s fault!” Escher hisses. His fangs elongate and poke out from his lips whenever he speaks. “Why am I never enough for you? Why aren’t any of your,” he flips his hand, looking for the proper word, “ _ conquests  _ ever enough for you? When will you grow tired of this one and lock her in a coffin like all the others? Or did you fail to mention that part to her of just how disposable she is?”

“ENOUGH!” Strahd roars. The boom of his voice is enough to shake the walls of Ravenloft, sending bits of gravel crumbling to the ground. “You will  _ not  _ speak to me in such a manner, you insect! You are pathetic, nothing more than a child who quivers in fear whenever I so much as raise my hand! You disobey my orders, threaten the woman I love, and expect a  _ morsel  _ of positive attention from me?” His eyes have become a deep red with a fury Ireena has rarely seen in the vampire. His posture is rigid.

Strahd raises a hand and Escher leaps to the edge of the room, his back pressed against the stone wall like a mouse trembling before a cat. The fury in his eyes is replaced with blue pools of fear. Had Ireena not known better, she could have guessed that he was no more than a child whose father had caught him out past curfew.

“Death would be too good for you! I should seal you into a stone coffin for the rest of eternity and have your cries of anguish lull me to sleep!” 

With a darting glance at her, Strahd seemingly catches himself. His eyes close and Ireena can see his shoulders raise with an intake of breath. As he opens them again, the fury is gone.

Calm and composed—frighteningly so.

“Escher, come here.”

Something compels the vampire spawn forward despite his face still being twisted in fear. Grudgingly, he trudges forward as if his limbs are made of wood until he is a mere foot away from Strahd.

_ “Get on your knees and grovel. Apologize to Ireena and beg for her forgiveness.” _

Escher does as he's told before Strahd; his knees hit the stone floor with a painful sounding thud. He shifts around until he is facing Ireena and he slumps forward until his forehead is touching the ground. “I beg of you to forgive me. I spoke out of line. I am unworthy to be in your presence!”

She feels uncomfortable. It is obvious that the man is being compelled to act against his will. He is a mere thrall, a puppet of Strahd's to control and abuse as he pleases. 

“ _ Rise and face me.”  _ Again, Escher does as instructed and turns towards him. With an almost tender touch, Stands brings a hand up to cup Escher’s face. The spawn leans into the touch once more.

Fire erupts from Strahd’s hand. The flames engulf Escher’s face, lick at his hair, his clothes, his pale flesh. Escher lets out an inhuman blood-curdling screech the likes Ireena has never heard before. Whatever command Strahd has cast on him keeps Escher’s feet planted. His clawed hands tear at Strahd’s arm but the vampire holds firm.

The putrid smell of burnt flesh and hair fills the air. Ireena has to turn away from the gruesome sight of Escher’s skin bubbling and peeling from the heat. The stone walls of the castle are cast with a flickering orange glow. Tall shadows stretch along the floor and up onto the walls. 

Like that, it’s over. The castle is encompassed in darkness once more, silent besides the gentle crackle of embers trapped beneath Escher’s flesh. She hears the thud of his body hitting the floor, but she doesn't dare look at his charred remains. She had seen enough death already—enough to last her at least five lifetimes. The hot tears rolling down her face barely register to her.

A hand lightly brushes against her shoulder. Ireena jumps. 

It is Strahd's voice that speaks up. “Do not be afraid. It is done.”

She accidentally glances at Escher’s corpse. A whimper escapes her throat.

He clears his throat. ”You've been out and about in your little adventures recently. A real  _ worldly  _ woman. Do you know how to kill that which doesn't live, Ireena?”

Ireena takes a deep breath. She has her ideas, ones that she had gleaned from her travels outside of Barovia Village.  _ Standard weapons were useless. Fire was effective. A stake to the heart, a vial of holy water to finish them off. Sever the head, stuff it with garlic. They could not enter consecrated areas.  _ “No.”

His hand tugs lightly on her shoulder, urging her to turn around. For some reason, she does. Strahd is standing less than an arm’s length away from her. Behind him, she sees again the crumpled form of Escher. Dead. She tries to not look at it or meet Strahd's eyes and instead focuses on the ruby resting against the vampire's breast.

“Although they are powerful, it is not impossible to kill them. My spawn will quickly regenerate unless killed by certain methods: magic, fire, consecrated energy. It is best to kill them while they slumber in their coffins during the day as that is when they are at their weakest. If you do not have any of these means at your disposal—” Quick as lightning, Strahd grips Ireena's right hand and presses it to his chest. “A sharpened wooden stake to the heart, just above the breast bone. Strike fast and true, as it will likely be your last if you miss.”

She can feel the chill of his flesh emanating even from beneath his clothes. His own hand is impossibly cold against her own. She can feel no heartbeat beneath her palm. Just as fast as he pulled out there Ireena tugs her hand away with little resistance. “Why are you telling me this?” she demands, her voice quivering.

“Security. If my minions could kill you with a single blow—which they won't—I feel that it is only fair that you have the same advantage. Of course,” Strahd reaches a hand back up and wipes at a tear clinging to her cheek, “these will not work on me as I am no ordinary vampire.”

Ireena takes a shuddering breath; she can still feel the ghost of his touch on her face, her hand.  _ Disgusting.  _ “I wish to retire for the night.”

“I’m surprised to find you awake at this hour in the first place. I can only hope that my own sleep schedule is not interfering with yours. May I escort you —“

“I will find my own way. Good night.”

The brief flash of anger that crosses his features is not lost to Ireena. “Ah. Well. Good night, Ireena.” He hesitates for a moment, shifts his weight. She can feel his intense gaze on her face as he searches for eye contact. “I love you.”

“No, you don’t. You love the idea of me.” With that, she turns around and begins walking as fast as her legs will carry her back to her quarters. 

——

Ireena wakes to find a bag laying in the middle of her room that hadn’t been there when she had gone to bed. It is a scarlet-colored velvet bag big enough to hold a fair mount of items. It is tied into a bow at the top with a piece of rope. Something round bulges against the inside of the bag. There is a note pinned to it. 

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she slips her feet into slippers and pads over to the package.

The first thing she notices is Strahd’s iconic red seal emblazoned with some sort of bird. Her name is written on the front of the letter in neat cursive. Slipping open the seal, she reads:

_ My dearest Ireena, _

_ A gift to prove my loyalty. _

_ Your husband-to-be, _

_ Strahd _

The second thing she notices is the putrid stench emanating from the back. It smells like death. A wave of nausea sweeps over her, and she has to force herself to swallow the bile threatening to rise up her throat. She covers her nose and mouth with the sleeve of her night gown. 

_ A gift to prove my loyalty. _

Slowly, she unties the rope and lets it fall to the floor. The stench is stronger now and it burns her face. She peers into the bag to find three pairs of eyes, glazed over and vacant, on otherwise pretty faces staring back at her.

She recognizes them from the halls of the castle.  _ Strahd’s brides. _

A scream rips from her throat.


	3. Chapter 3

There is a knock at her door. Ireena ignores it at first, but the feminine voice that speaks up draws her attention.

_“Hello?”_

“Yes, who is it?” Ireena asks. She sets the book she had been reading down on the desk and pushes the chair back enough to free her legs.

_“Gertruda. May I enter?”_

_Gertruda._ The name sounds familiar. “Yes, you may enter.”

The door cracks open enough for Ireena to see doll-like eyes peering through before the door is pushed open. Before her stands a girl younger than her with dark hair messily pulled up into a bun. She is wearing a deep red gown with intricate embroidery work befitting of the finest courts in the land. Her hands are clasped before her. 

“Ireena—no, _my lady_ —my Lord Strahd has asked me to see if I may be of service in any way. Do you need me to clean anything? I’m real good at cleaning.”

 _Gertruda._ Ireena studies her face. There is something familiar about it that is escaping her. Had they met before? Was she one of Strahd’s minions? “It’s nice to meet you, Gertruda. Where are you from?”

“Where am I from?” The question seems to catch the young girl off guard. “I am in the service of Lord Strahd.”

“Before working for Strahd, where did you live? Where were you born?” The girl has her full attention now. “I am from Barovia Village.”

“I, um,” her eyebrows furrow and she tilts her head. “I don’t remember. I have always been in the service of Lord Strahd.”

It’s a lie, Ireena knows, but Gertruda seems to genuinely believe it. _Gertruda…_ Where did she know her from? “What is your surname, Gertruda?”

“I, um…” Her eyes dart to the door. “May I make your bed for you, Ireena— _my lady!”_ She squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m sorry. Lord Strahd has been trying to improve my manners but I can be awfully thick in the head at times.”

 _Gertruda._ It suddenly hits her. She recognizes her from Barovia Village! She is Mary’s daughter—the one that had gone missing! Poor Mary; the loss of her daughter had been the last straw and had driven her mad. She now spent her days wailing and grieving the loss of her daughter. It all made sense now. Of course The Devil would steal an innocent girl from her home! What a truly horrible monster!

Her heart acts before her brain can stop her. Ireena flings herself at Gertruda and pulls her into an embrace. “Gertruda! Everyone in Barovia Village—your mother—waa so worried about you! Has he harmed you in any way?”

Hesitant, Gertruda wraps her arms around her. Ireena can feel her body stiffen in her embrace. 

“My… my mother? I don’t think I understand.”

Ireena tugs the high collar of Gertruda’s gown aside to inspect her neck. _No bite marks. Good._ She pulls away enough to look the girl in the eye despite her hesitance to make eye contact. “Gertruda, _listen to me_ . You are from Barovia Village. You have people there who love you very much. Your mother misses you very much. The Devil stole you from your home and brought you here. You are being controlled by him and you need to _fight it._ He is _evil,_ Gertruda.”

“You’re scaring me,” says Gertruda. Her eyes are as wide as dinner plates yet there is still a dreamy quality to them, as if under some sort of spell. Gertruda begins to try to pull away from her grasp and Ireena lets her.

This was unacceptable—a new low even for Strahd. “I’m going to go talk to The Devil.”

“Please don’t!” Gertruda pleads. There is a slight tremor in her voice. “He may become angry!”

“Do not be afraid. I will ensure no harm comes to you.”

“But he may hurt you!”

Ireena fixes her with a look, one that she hopes conveys strength and optimism despite the blood boiling in her veins. “He won’t.”

With that, Ireena stomps out of her room. In a blind fury, her feet carry her throughout the castle. She’s not certain where she’s going or even where Strahd can be found, but she trusts the vampire to come to her eventually. He’s up, she knows he is; Gertruda had said that Strahd had sent her to her chambers.

“Strahd!” Ireena bellows. Her voice bounces off the stone walls of the castle and is initially met by silence for several moments. A silly idea, she thinks, to call out to the darkness, but given The Devil's proclivity for watching her...

There is a slight gust at her back, followed by a deep voice speaking up. “Yes, my love?”

Ireena jumps at that. _Gods, how she wishes he didn’t do that!_ She whips around to find Strahd standing there with a quirked eyebrow, his arms crossed before him. There is the ghost of a smile on his pale face. He is dressed in a black dress shirt with the top three buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to the elbow as if he had been busy working on something. 

She clears her throat and mirrors Strahd’s crossed arms. _She’s not afraid of him._ “Care to explain why Gertruda thinks she is your property?”

His expression remains unchanged. “I have yet to bed her, if that is what you are concerned about. I have been treating her with the utmost respect. If my loyalty is still in question, however, I would be more than willing to—“

“I am relieved to hear that you have not stolen this child’s innocence, but that is not my concern. I am more concerned with how you _stole her_ from her home in Barovia Village.”

Strahd actually throws his head back and laughs at that. It is a cruel sound. “I did not _steal_ her from Barovia Village. Little Gertruda came seeking me. Her mother— _Mad Mary_ , is that what you all have taken to calling her?—filled her head with stories and fairy tales and Gertruda slipped out of her home to explore the castle herself. At night, of all things. I merely saved her from the Barovian wildlife,” says Strahd. “I suppose she had grown tired of eating cabbage soup every day and wanted to live out her little fairy tales.”

“You protected her from the Barovian wildlife, and for that you have my gratitude. But now you can take her back to her home in Barovia Village where she belongs,” says Ireena. 

Strahd tilts his head slightly, that same damn smirk on his face. “But why? She seems to be enjoying herself here. Surely her life here is far better than her impoverished life back in that wretched town. Besides, I quite enjoy her help around the castle. With a little guidance, she will make a fine handmaid for Lady von Zarovich one day.”

The comment about Barovia Village causes the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. “Whether she wants to stay here or with her mother back at the village should be _her_ choice, not yours!” Ireena swallows the knot in her throat. Her face is hot. “Please, Strahd. Release her.”

The vampire fixes her in his gaze for what feels like an eternity. Thinking. Contemplating some way to make her life more miserable than it already is, she supposes. The expression on his face is unreadable, his thin lips set into a neutral frown. Finally, he speaks up.

“You make many demands of me without giving much in return, my love. It is rare for humans to be so brazenly emboldened before the lord of Barovia. I've put heads on pikes for lesser aggressions.” Strahd reaches across to tuck a piece of auburn hair behind her ear.

Ireena doesn't flinch, just continues holding his gaze. Challenging him. _She's not afraid of him._

“Tell me, Ireena. Suppose I do honor your little request. I pull my influence from Gertruda and return her to Barovia Village, safe and sound.” His voice drops to a fierce whisper. “What shall I receive in return?”

Her eyes widen at the question. She takes a step back. For a moment, it feels like her heart stops beating. She should have expected this as the monster became more and more impatient with her, yet it still makes her blood turn to ice.

Gods, what would she trade for Gertruda’s safety?

Ireena takes a shaky breath. “M-My father had a longsword that has been passed down through our family for generations. I'm sure Ismark would—”

“I have an armory full of weapons. A sword belonging to a nobody family means nothing to me. What else?”

 _A nobody family! How dare he!_ Her father had been a great man loved by all! Ismark was strong and had the kindest heart! He would be a great burgomaster to lead their people to prosperity! “Gold. Barovia Village would pay you handsomely for—”

“I have more gold than I know how to spend. Next.”

What sort of aristocrat didn’t want more wealth? But what did you give to a centuries-old demon with eternal life? She could… but did she want to? No. But poor Gertruda didn’t ask for this. She had her whole life ahead of her. “One dance. _One.”_

Strahd’s face lights up more than she had even known possible for the undead creature. _Like a child given a new toy._ It’s almost comical the way his lips turn up into a teeth-baring smile. “I’m very interested.”

“During this dance, you shall not touch me more than necessary. Gertruda must be sent home unharmed immediately after.”

Strahd bows slightly at that, sweeping his hand beneath his chest. “I am a man of my word.” His dark eyes glance up. “I trust that you will dress appropriately as for any court gathering? I would like to choose your gown, if I may.”

Ireena grits her teeth. “Yes. Nothing above mid-calf in length, however.”

“Of course. Shall we plan on tomorrow night?”

“Fine.”

“Excellent. It is a date, then.”

———

The next night, Gertruda knocks on her door.

The girl is holding a deep purple gown with both hands.

Like Strahd agreed, the gown barely sweeps the floor. It has a high collar that settles just beneath her jaw and long, flowing sleeves as if made for a winter engagement. It fits her perfectly, and Ireena tries not to read too much into it. 

Gertruda helps by lacing up the back of the gown. Ireena chooses not to put on the accompanying corset. She had always hated the things as they impaired not only her breathing but her ability to fight should the need arise. Dresses and skirts were bad enough, but corsets were extremely unnecessary. 

Looking in the mirror, she feels out of place. The gown is far more expensive than anything else she had ever owned, even as the daughter of a burgomaster. She can count on one hand the number of times she had had to wear a dress before. The feeling of the heavy skirt tugging on her hips makes her miss trousers and her own armor. 

“You look beautiful, Miss Ireena,” Gertruda says after Ireena has probably been scrutinizing her reflection for an uncomfortably long time. 

“Thank you.” She doesn’t feel beautiful. Not when she knows that the dress was specifically chosen by The Devil himself just so that she could play part in whatever sick fantasy he held on to. Instead, she feels debauched. She knows Strahd doesn't see her as Ireena, but as some poor woman he had chased to her death. 

That is what she is to him. That is what other women were before her. That is what future women would be unless she could put an end to his miserable story.

With a sigh, Ireena follows Gertruda out of her quarters and through the winding halls of Ravenloft. Despite the numerous rooms—more than she had ever seen in one building—and the plentiful staircases and hallways and dark passageways, Gertruda navigates the castle with grace as if she has lived there her entire life. 

Before they even reach the set of double stairs leading downward, Ireena can hear the sound of organ music drifting throughout the castle. The song is unrecognizable, but the sweeping powerful notes make her heart soar. It is beautiful. It had been so long since she had heard music. Nobody in her family had been musically talented; the rare instances she did hear music were via the traveling bards at the taverns.

As the duo descends, Ireena can already make out the form of Strahd waiting in the center of the room, unmoving like a stone sentry. He is wearing a form-fitting black doublet with high-waisted black trousers. He has discarded his typical black cape for a red half-cape clasped at his throat with the ruby Ireena has yet to see him without. His arms are crossed behind his back and she can already feel his gaze boring into her. 

With a small curtsy, Gertruda swiftly dismisses herself. It’s just her and The Devil now.

She’s doing this for Gertruda, Ireena reminds herself. It doesn’t help ease the ball of apprehension in her stomach, however. 

“My lady.” Strahd gives a sweeping bow before stepping forward. His eyes trail over her from head-to-toe for several moments, an almost dream-like quality in his eyes, and Ireena feels more like livestock being scrutinized for quality than a woman. “You look ravishing,” Strahd comments finally, and Ireena can’t help but notice the almost breathless quality to his voice. 

Rather than replying in stead, Ireena crosses her arms in front of her, suddenly self-conscious, and averts her gaze. She wants to tell him to keep his eyes to himself, but a part of her knows that it would do little good when the undead creature merely saw her as _his_ property.

“Let’s get this over with, already,” Ireena snaps. The sooner she could get away from him, the better.

“As you wish.” Strahd extends a gloved hand to her, and Ireena reluctantly takes it. Even through the gloves, his hands are freezing. He places a hand around the small of her back and she hovers her hand above his shoulder. With that, he takes the lead and Ireena follows.

The music seemingly grows louder as the two begin to move across the floor. There are swells of thunderous passion in the song, but Ireena can't help but notice the notes of sadness as well. There had been an organ in one of the dining halls, she remembers. 

“Who is playing the organ right now?” she asks, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“It’s… difficult to explain,” says Strahd. “Why? Do you have an interest in music, Ireena?”

“Yes.” It would do her good to hear more music, to fill her heart with more than the existential dread of existing in such a place. 

Strahd makes a thoughtful sound and rotates them. “The name of this song is _Lupus et Agnus_. It was written by a famous Barovian composer by the name of Nikolai Stravinsky many centuries ago. While it's been quite some time since I've practiced, I'd be happy to play for you if you would do me the honor of sitting for it.”

“It is a lovely song.” Ireena accidentally steps on the vampire's toes and winces.

Ireena had practiced dancing about three times in her entire life and it was evident. Even as The Devil guides her, she feels as if she cannot get the rhythm down, or that he is dragging her through the steps. 

Upon stepping on his toes one too many times, Strahd quirks an unamused eyebrow at her. “Ireena, darling, we really must work on your technique. Do they not teach their ladies how to dance in Barovia Village?”

“Sorry,” she mumbles out of pure habit. Her face grows hot with embarrassment. Previously, she had only practiced with Ismark. He believed that dancing was a necessary skill for ladies to have “should they be invited to dinner with nobility.” He had the patience of a saint, though, and carefully taught her. It had been a long time since she’d practiced, however, and the steps were not coming back to her fast enough. While the vampire was graceful and deliberate with each step, each twirl around the room done in time with the music, she felt as if she had two left feet.

Upon noticing her embarrassment, Strahd gives her his best attempt at a reassuring smile. “Nevertheless, I am very much enjoying your company and being able to gaze upon your beauty. We have all the time in the world to practice together.” Strahd leads her into a chassé. “I would love to show you off one day, perhaps during our first ball as Lord and Lady von Zarovich. While I am normally not a fan of… social gatherings, it would be unfair to not allow the rest of Barovia to gaze upon you. The nobles would covet your beauty, and yet you'd be all mine. A fitting bride for the lord of Barovia.” 

With his right foot, he steps forward and dips her until her auburn hair is almost touching the floor. Their eyes meet. “Would you like that, Ireena?” His lips are suddenly trailing across her collarbone, along her throat…

Panic begins to bubble up in her gut. She is reminded of the time she woke up to find his fangs clamped around her throat, feeding in what she had believed to be the safety of her chambers back in Barovia Village. Or the time prior in which she had woken from what had to have been a trance to find two puncture wounds along her throat, her skin stained red in a blatant violation of her privacy, of her autonomy.

Bile begins to rise in her throat and she pushes against Strahd’s chest with all of her might. He releases her onto her back and she is quick to scrabble onto her hands and knees, taking large gulps of air to try and calm her protesting stomach. Despite the sweat she can begin to feel bead up along her skin, her body shivers violently. 

“Is everything okay, my love?” A baritone voice asks from behind her. Strahd places a hand on her shoulder.

“Don't touch me!” Ireena snarls and attempts to slap his hand away. A fresh wave of nausea washes over her and she swallows heavily. 

His grip on her shoulder tightens, almost painfully so. Unwilling to fight it any longer, Ireena is sick on the wooden floor. From the corner of her eye, she notices that Strahd remains fixed in place but pulls his hand away. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes. Her throat burns. 

Once finished, she wipes at her mouth with the back of her sleeve—much to Strahd’s noticeable annoyance. 

“Feeling better?” he asks, the tone of his voice unreadable. 

Ireena ignores him and stands up. Her legs feel like unstable twigs beneath her. She questions whether she can make it back up the stairs to her quarters, much less take two steps. But she must. This had gone on long enough. She did her part.

“Ireena, where are you going?”

“I... don't... feel well,” she pants. Was it not obvious enough for him? Her voice sounds rough even to her own ears. She takes an uneven step forward.

“I thought the agreement was one song. We have not even gotten through half of it.”

 _Damn the song!_ “I was _sick,_ ” she notes incredulously. Ireena wraps her arms around herself to shield from the cold.

“Do not be ashamed. It does not bother me. I have seen much worse during my lifetime. Come, we shall move to another part and I will call for someone to come clean it.”

“I am unsteady on my feet. I really... should go rest—“

“You may put your feet on mine and I will guide us. If need be, I will hold you. Come, let us finish the song.”

It stings her throat just to speak. She needs a cup of water. “No. Strahd, please, I—“

“Ireena, look at me. _Look at me._ ”

It must be out of instinct, because she obeys and their eyes meet. A sudden warmth floods her body, through her toes and legs and up through her fingers. It settles in her head. She feels as if she is submerged in a warm pool of water and staring up at the surface. Her vision is distorted, rippling waves of water on a windy day. She is acutely aware that her body is moving, standing up and then twisting, twirling in time with the dull murmur of music. Colors blur before her. The sound of The Devil’s voice registers in her head, but she cannot make out the words.

Ireena tries to scream, to snap herself out of whatever trance she is in. 

_This isn’t her._

Her mouth moves—she can feel it—but she does but understand the words out of her own mouth.

She kicks and struggles against the waves in her mind, tries to, _tries to._ The Devil extends his influence further over her, pushes back. The fingers of his control tangle around her brain, her conscience, her autonomy. Ireena fights it.

_This isn’t her!_

With a stuttering gasp, she awakens. Sound, sight, and smell return to her. The room is one again alight with the warm glow of sconce light. Strahd’s face comes into focus once more with the look of a cat that got the canary. As her vision sharpens, the music begins to fade out—the end of the song.

 _“Don’t you ever do that again!”_ Ireena shrieks. She is not sure of what comes over her, but her fist is moving towards the vampire’s face before the logical part of her brain can stop it. Quick as lightning, Strahd wraps a hand around her fist, completely stopping its momentum. There is not the slightest bit of remorse or guilt on his face, but he has the _audacity_ to smile at her!

“Thank you for the dance, Ireena. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Let us do it again soon.” With that, he shifts good fingers to the underside of her fist and dips to press a light kiss to her knuckles. “Get some rest.”


	4. Chapter 4

True to his word, The Devil releases Gertruda the next day. By means of carriage and with Strahd’s vow that no harm shall befall her, she is taken back to Barovia.

A part of Ireena is sad to see her go. Despite being under Strahd’s thrall, it had been nice having a fellow human to converse with—as limited as their conversations were. She served as a reminder of her own humanity, of what she had to get back to. Yet she was glad to see the girl return.

At least one of them had their freedom. 

She stays in her room for a week straight, not even bothering to come out for meals or to bathe. 

Strahd, without permission, enters her quarters several times. He offers to play music for her, to take her out into the Barovian countryside. She does not acknowledge him and each time he eventually leaves with a frustrated sigh. On more than one occasion, she finds small gifts laying on her bedside table: sweets, flowers, jewelry, letters. They all go untouched.

As per usual, Rahadin visits her to empty her chamber pot or to bring her meals when she does not go to supper. Meals are left on the small dining table in her room. Many of them remain there. She has little desire for conversation, however. It feels as if she only speaks ten words the entire week and she is perfectly okay with it.

Towards the eighth day, there is a knock at her door. It is an unfamiliar knock. Not the gentle three taps that belonged to the dusk elf, or the almost rhythmic heavy knocks of The Devil.

No matter who it is, she does not feel receptive to visitors, so she ignores it. 

Another knock, more frantic this time.

After the third set of knocks, Ireena groans inwardly and trods to her door to throw it open.

A man—a human man—stands before her. He appears to be out of breath. The man has dark hair that cascades over his shoulders in loose curls. His blue eyes light up upon falling on her.

“Tatyana!”

At first, Ireena is confused. She does not believe she has ever met this man before, yet the excitement in his eyes is that of an old friend. Suddenly, something clicks in the back of her mind.

“Sergei,” she breathes. He is just as she—a past version of herself, hidden away in the fog of her memory—remembers. He hasn't aged a year!

Breathless, Ireena throws herself at him. Sergei is quick to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her thick auburn hair. She can feel his strong figure beneath his tunic and she tightens her hold all the more in case he slips away from her again. “Sergei, I missed you…”

“And I, you, Tatyana.”

His voice comes out as a whisper, low and melodious. How she'd missed the sound of his voice, the way he was always lighting up the room with his laughter, the way he'd whisper to her about his plans for the future late at night on the balcony of Castle Ravenloft. 

Sergei tucks a finger under her chin and lifts her head to meet his eyes. He smiles, but it does not reach his eyes.

“Where have you been?” Ireena asks.

“Barovia works in mysterious ways. But all that matters is that I'm here with you now. And I won't let anything happen to you again.”

Barovia certainly did work in mysterious ways. “How did you find me here? The forests surrounding the castle, t-the monsters… And you were in that pool...”

Sergei chuckles lightly. ”You ask a lot of questions, my love.” He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve had a lot of time to plan and think. During that time, though, I never stopped thinking of you. And now we're together at last.”

Ireena starts, “We need to get out of here. If The Devil finds you—”

“It’s okay. We've settled our differences.”

“But—”

“Hush, my love. It's okay.”

Ireena opens her mouth, as if to say something, but she decides against it. She presses her cheek to his chest. The unique smell of him, of musk and whatever oils he wears, fills her lungs and she breathes him in deeply.

The last time she had seen him was in Krezk, in that pool. She wasn't sure if it was him—it could have been an illusion created by The Devil himself to tempt her for all she knew—but he had seemed so _real._ And he had longed for her just as she had longed for him. Oh, how she had wanted to take his hand, to follow him into whatever abyss was before them. Her friends, the adventurers, had pulled her away from him, though. Like that, he was gone again, his reflection in the water fading away with the last rays of the day. Gone from her life for gods knew how many reincarnations of herself.

Until now.

She doesn't want to question how he had found her here. How Strahd had apparently found it in his non-beating heart to settle his differences with the very brother he had murdered in cold blood and cursed with every breath centuries later. The minute she started questioning these things, she knew she would wake up from this dream. It had been years since her dreams had not been filled with shadows and dark whispers; she'd almost forgotten how pleasant dreams could be.

“We have so much lost time to make up for, Sergei. I-I don't even know where to start! So much has happened recently…”

“Indeed we do. But we have all the time in the world now to talk. It's been a very emotional day—for the both of us. I'm sure you're just as exhausted as I am. Let's go relax on the balcony for a few moments.”

“I would like to get out of this castle as soon as possible. It scares me here,” Ireena sighs. The sooner she can get away from Strahd, the better. She doesn't have much faith in Strahd keeping his agreement with Sergei—whatever that was. When he inevitably lashes out again, she wants to be far away from Ravenloft.

Sergei tangles a hand in her hair and holds her close to his chest. She doesn't resist and sinks further into the embrace. With another sigh, she closes her eyes and allows herself to just enjoy the moment of being with the man she loves.

Something is nagging her in the back of her mind, something that she can't quite put a finger on. It's eerily quiet—something that was atypical for the decrepit castle. The only sound she can hear is her own soft breath. It strikes her that she cannot hear any noise coming from Sergei. Opening her eyes, she tries to focus on his breathing, the sound of his heart beating, anything.

Even with her ear against his chest, she cannot hear anything. 

There is no heartbeat.

Fat tears begin to well up in her eyes and threaten to spill over. Why does this always happen to her? What had she done to upset the gods? Truly she did not deserve to be eternally bound to him. Tears trail down her cheeks and he takes notice, tipping her chin up with a thumb and scrutinizing her face.

“Tatyana, my love, what is the matter? Have I said something to upset you?” He asks. His dark brows are furrowed in concern.

“Gods, you even act so much like him…” Ireena whispers. She can't keep her voice from quivering with emotion and she sniffles. Her heart feels like it has been snatched from her very chest and stepped on. It's too much.

He slightly tilts his head at her. “I don't think I understand…”

“Strahd, please s-stop...” Her voice cracked, and she sobs loudly into his chest. A look of what almost looks like hurt flashes across his face for the briefest of seconds before his features smooth into an expressionless slate once more.

The facade melts away like wax on a candle, and suddenly he is Strahd again, pale face and black eyes. Sergei is gone—has been gone for centuries.

Sergei is gone. There is only Strahd.

It's as if a flame in her mind is snuffed, and suddenly she cannot remember why she was so overjoyed to see the man—guise or not. Memories from the past haunting her present. Yet she cannot stop the tears from falling down her heated face.

“I would have kept up this guise for centuries if it meant I could feel even a fraction of the love you felt for him…” Strahd whispers. He tightens his hold around her shoulders for a brief moment before letting go. Ireena collapses to her knees before him and hides her face in her hands. 

“I am not _her,_ ” she whimpers, the sound muffled by her hands.

“I would kill everyone in Barovia for you. Would adorn you with the finest jewels in the land if it meant I could feel the warmth of your smile. This land means nothing to me if I cannot rule it with you by my side!” His voice is growing louder by the second until it is a feral-sounding roar. Ireena instinctually pulls away from him. “What would it take for you to love me, Tatyana? What can I do? Just name it and it shall be done!”

“I want to be free!” Ireena wails. “I want you to die so my soul may find peace and leave this wretched land!” She slumps forward, her long hair brushing against the stone floor as she weeps into her hands. Her whole body feels numb. “I hate you! Gods, how I hate you!”

She hears nothing from Strahd for a long while. She cannot see him and she refuses to look at him. Finally, he lets out a roar and she hears a splintering crack as the toe of his boot connects with her ribs. A sharp pain shoots up her side; it's enough to take her breath away and she wheezes past the pain, clutches at her side and rolls onto the floor.

“You ungrateful whore!” Strahd roars. His voice is deafening even in the open room. “I have given everything for you! It is because of you that I cannot die and leave this land! Yet you sit here and weep like a sniveling child, forever playing the victim!” He begins to pace, each heavy footstep echoing off the stone walls. “If you think you are ever leaving this castle, you are sorely mistaken!”

Her side feels scorching hot, as if stabbed repeatedly with a hot poker. Strahd screams something else at her, but she cannot pay any attention to it past the pain clouding her thoughts. Suddenly, a vice-like grip pulls her up by the shoulders as if she weighs no more than a ragdoll. Fresh pain tears down her side and she shrieks in agony. Her vision is blurry. She can barely see past the tears in her eyes, can barely see Strahd baring his fangs at her and the glow of red hatred in his eyes.

“Look at me!” The words barely register in her mind. “Look at me, damn you!”

“Strahd, stop this nonsense! You are hurting her!”

The grip on her shoulders slackens and she's sent crumbling to the ground again. Her head feels dizzy. Her lungs aren't taking in enough air. Panic begins to bubble in her gut.

”Why did it have to be him, Rahadin? Why him of all people?” 

“I wish I had the answers you seek, Master!”

There's more conversing between them. Ireena cannot discern it past the roar of her own blood in her ears and her rapid heartbeat. However, she is faintly aware of when Strahd finally storms off. She is faintly aware of when, partially due to the pain that shoots up her side again at being moved, Rahadin scoops her up and takes her off to gods know where.

\------

Her entire torso is sore. Every time she goes to sit up or so much as moves the wrong way, fresh pain shoots up her side. Every breath stresses and pulls on her ribcage to where it feels like a boulder has been placed on her chest. She breathes carefully, shallowly, lest she irritate her broken ribs further. Life seems to drag on that first week. She doesn't dare leave her bed, much less her room. While she had suffered plenty of injuries during her time out adventuring, none had compared to this.

For once in her life, Strahd stays away—one week, then two. It feels like the longest amount of time she has gone without seeing him in years, since before he was aware of her existence. It's a nice reprieve, and she would consider going through it all again if it would keep him away.

Ireena wonders if he feels guilt for his actions, but the thought is brief; The Devil was incapable of feeling human emotions such as guilt. Something else is keeping him away. Maybe that dusk elf had given him a stern talking to? The thought of it is almost enough to make her smile.

Rahadin is decent enough company; anyone is decent company when they're the only other living contact you have for two weeks. He's polite and well-mannered around her, which is more than she can say for his master or Strahd's numerous creatures skulking around the castle. 

He visits her three times a day to bring her meals and empty her chamber pot 

—something far above his pay grade, she's sure. Rahadin never stays long, but they have had a handful of conversations during his visits. The chamberlain was quite fond of botany, Ireena learned. They had spent several minutes discussing the various plants growing in the overgrown gardens of Castle Ravenloft. 

“You seem to know a lot about the gardens around here, Rahadin, and yet you do not tend to them? Why is that?”

Rahadin crosses a leg over a knee and shifts his posture in the chair. “My… _people_ have a natural connection with nature and the arcane. As much as I would love to restore the gardens of Castle Ravenloft, I simply do not have the time with all of my other duties as chamberlain. My master does not concern himself much with the, ah, appearance of the castle. As such, he has not delegated the task to me.”

“Couldn't you ask him if you could restore the gardens?”

His face is unreadable. ”I have not broached the subject, no. I fear I already know what his response would be.” Rahadin straightens his back and puts on a mock scowl. His voice is a parody of Strahd's, _“If you have time to play with flowers, then you have time to double-check the taxes for this period.”_

Ireena can't help but giggle at the poor impression. She hadn't thought the dusk elf capable of making a joke, much less at his master's expense. She sees Rahadin cast a sidelong glance at her, a small smile on his face, apparently proud of his own little joke. He is quick to clear his throat, a neutral expression on his face once more.

There is a knock at her door. Any mirth that Ireena might have felt is immediately gone at the implication of who could be behind it. Her heart begins to pound.

“Ireena? May I come in?”

She recognizes the silken voice as belonging to Strahd.

Without waiting for a response, Strahd opens the door and steps inside. He's dressed plainly in a well-tailored black tunic and slacks with a red undershirt. Rahadin is quick to stand and bow his head as Strahd advances into the room. The vampire stops halfway into the room and Ireena is grateful to have plenty of space between them. She eyes him suspiciously.

“How are you feeling, Ireena?” Strahd asks. There is a pleasant expression on his face, as if he has completely forgotten the reason for her broken ribs in the first place. It makes her sick.

After getting no response from Ireena, he continues. “I had heard you and Rahadin laughing in here—”

Ireena doesn't miss the look of dawning horror on Rahadin's face at that.

“—and it delighted me to hear you in high spirits, even if it was at my expense.” Strahd looks to Rahadin at that, the cheerful expression still on his face.

“I apologize, sir,” Rahadin responds without missing a beat.

“No need to apologize.” Strahd dismisses the notion with a flick of his hand. “I would allow a thousand jests at my expense if it meant I could hear my Ireena laugh.” Strahd stands behind Rahadin, who shifts uncomfortably in his chair, and claps a hand down on his thin shoulder.

“I’m glad to see that you two are getting along far better than I had expected—my bride-to-be and my oldest friend. It warms the heart.”

Rahadin’s eyes go wide for just a moment, only to divert his gaze.

“Did Rahadin ever tell you about how he came to be chamberlain of Castle Ravenloft?” Without waiting for a reply, Strahd continues. “It was centuries ago, back before my transformation. Rahadin served my father, the good King Barov. A traitor to his own people, he assisted my father’s army in taking over the dusk elves. My father liked his ambition and made him an honorary member of the von Zarovich household. Albeit not by blood, you could say that Rahadin and I are brothers.”

Glancing down at Rahadin, Ireena can see that the tips of his ears have turned a deep red. It's amusing, she thinks, that the dusk elf could be so easily embarrassed—angered?—by words of acknowledgment.

“Sir, may I leave? I have much to attend to.” Rahadin asks.

“No. Stay and talk. I'm sure Ireena here appreciates your presence.” Strahd squeezes his shoulder. “A decade or so passes. My father passes away and I become lord of Barovia. Rahadin, ever the loyal servant, remains by my side. Even after my transformation, while most of my men fled, perished, or betrayed me, Rahadin was in the thick of it with me.” A sadistic smile spreads across Strahd’s face. “Not only is Rahadin a loyal servant, but he is also a force to be reckoned with in battle. There was a time in which the dusk elves drew my ire—”

“Master, please don't—”

“—and Rahadin, without needing to be asked, broke into the dusk elf camp and single-handedly killed all of their women in cold blood! All of them, including the children! He wanted to ensure that his people would suffer and slowly die off from being unable to reproduce. ” Strahd claps his hands together in mock glee. “Needless to say, I was very impressed. To cause the extinction of a race of people, especially one’s own people, is a level of cruelty even I am in awe of!”

She looks between Rahadin and The Devil, wide-eyed and speechless. To say that she is disgusted would be an understatement. Is that what had happened to the dusk elves? Is this why Rahadin had refused to talk about them? To commit genocide was an unspeakable evil. No crime warranted the murder of children! He was no better than The Devil in that sense. They made suitable company for one another. And to think that she had actually conversed with the dusk elf...

Strahd saunters over to the vanity in the room and pulls out its stool in order to be eye level with Ireena, who is still sitting propped up at the headboard of her bed. He looks ridiculous sitting on the small stool, Ireena thinks.

Rahadin is pretending to scrutinize the cuff of his doublet, his jaw clenched. The flush of his ears has crept down onto his face. _Good. She hopes he is ashamed._ “Master, do I have your permission to leave now?” he asks behind clenched teeth.

“Ask me again and there will be consequences.” Strahd clears his throat and begins. “Ireena, I wanted to apologize for my… earlier actions. It was uncalled for and I should not have physically let my anger out on you. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Ireena doesn't say a word.

“Yes, well…” Strahd adjusts himself on the seat, “in time, I'm sure. If there's anything I can do to help ease your pain, Ireena, I am at your beck and call. Always.”

 _You could let me out of this damn castle,_ Ireena thinks. Knowing that her words would fall on deaf ears, she keeps them to herself, choosing to continue glaring at the vampire instead.

His dark gaze suddenly snaps to hers, and panic begins bubbling in her gut. His face is unreadable, but he keeps staring at her. Ireena diverts her eyes, but she can still feel his on her for what feels like far too long. Strahd goes to stand up from the stool and the panic bursts forth into Ireena’s chest as he lumbers towards her. She goes to scramble away from him, even closer against the bed’s headboard, and immediately regrets it. Pain shoots up her side once more and she can feel the bandages tug at her tender skin. Despite the pain, she continues to try and put as much space between her and the vampire as possible. Strahd appears to flinch and pauses for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing in concern for the briefest of moments, before he's advancing towards her again.

She feels trapped. She needs to get out. It’s too much. The bed is in the corner of the room. There is nowhere to go. 

“Stay away from me!” In a last-ditch effort, Ireena picks up a pillow and throws it at him. Strahd catches it without even breaking eye contact, his reflexes lightning fast, and tosses it to the floor. “Foolish girl,” he chides.

He leans over the bed and presses the back of his hand to her forehead. Ireena can't help but flinch at the feeling of the chill of his hand seeping through her own warmth. It’s an unnatural cold. 

The coldness of death.

The corners of Strahd's mouth turn down into a frown. He pulls his hand away and stares at it for what feels like an uncomfortable amount of time to Ireena before he clears his throat. “Rahadin?” Strahd calls out in a clear voice. 

“Yes?”

“Does Ireena feel warm to you?”

“Warm?” Rahadin perks up and tilts his head slightly at that. “How do you mean?”

“Feverishly so?”

She notices Rahadin stiffen. His eyes dart between her and The Devil, his mouth slightly open as if searching for something to say. 

“Forgive me, but I am, ah, uncomfortable touching your woman.”

Strahd narrows his eyes at that. Silent tension builds between them before the vampire tersely states, “I don't recall asking about your comfort, Rahadin, but if Tatyana feels feverish to you.”

The dusk elf’s grimace is not lost to her. Ireena wants to call out that she feels fine, that Strahd’s presence is frightening her more than anything, but a feeling in her gut tells her that they would not listen. There is no use in reasoning with such barbarians. Instead, she lets the dusk elf run his clammy hands and spindly fingers along her face, checking her temperature as if she were a child and not a grown woman.

“She feels warm to me, but I am no expert on these matters. Would you like for me to send for a doctor?”

His eyes are focused on her again, staring through her at something seemingly no one else can see. It makes her uncomfortable. “Yes, that may be wise.” Strahd shakes his head slightly, as if coming back to reality. He smiles slightly at her, but she can see the slight worry in his features. “It's been so long since I've entertained human guests that I had almost forgotten how fragile you can be. However, I shall not let anything happen to you, my love. You are safe when you are with me. I hope you know that.”

 _Just like the scorpion and the frog._ His honeyed words make her feel sick to her stomach. Ireena knows there is no truth behind them. The Devil had hurt her before and he would, unwittingly, do it again. Of this she was certain. 

With a bow of his head, Rahadin goes to silently leave the room. Ireena shoots him a look of desperation—she does not want to be alone with The Devil despite her disgust with his actions—but he does not even glance at her as he closes the door behind him.

It is just the two of them now.

Her heart hammers in her chest.

As if sensing her unease, Strahd speaks up. “I have learned much of The Art during my many years. I would dare say that I have mastered over a hundred spells by now, some of which had thought to have been lost to time. I have had the resources and time available in order to build up my library of magical tomes. Yet I never did bother with the healing arts. I own the tomes, yes, but never once have I looked at their pages. I've never had a purpose for using them. I've been a firm believer that healing is best left to the old crones in the temple—until now.” He places a pale hand on the edge of her bed. “You are my purpose, Tatyana. I shall ensure that this never happens again.”

“I do not feel well. I wish to be alone,” Ireena says without missing a beat. Her voice exudes a confidence that even she is surprised by.

There is a sore look on The Devil’s face at her comment, his thin lips pulled taught in a straight line, and Ireena silently cheers. Despite himself, Strahd sits up with an exaggerated sigh. “Of course. If you need _anything,_ I trust you to call out; I am at your beck and call. I shall let you rest.” 

Strahd shoots her one last look over his shoulder before he finally, _finally,_ leaves the room. 

Ireena lets out a long breath she hadn't been aware she was holding.


	5. Chapter 5

“She appears to be suffering from an infection of the lung due to an excess of phlegm.” Sister Sokolov crosses her arms before her. “You should have come to see me as soon as you suspected a broken rib; it can easily become pneumonia. Potentially fatal if not treated quickly,” she admonishes. 

“It is not as if I can leave to go see a healer whenever I choose.” Ireena coughs and winces at the pain that grips at her chest like a searing vice. She smiles weakly at the healer, who shifts uncomfortably in place. She can tell that she is being very choice in her words and accusations. Not that she can blame her, what with The Devil standing right behind her like a shadow.

He towers over Sokolov by at least a head. Strahd’s gaze never wavers from her. Since Sokolov arrived, he has scrutinized every action, every test performed on her, and occasionally piping in with a suggestion of his own. Sokolov never questions his suggestions and always follows them, lest she incur Strahd’s wrath. When Strahd doesn't understand something that the healer does, he questions the reasoning and efficacy behind it, causing Sokolov to take time away to deliberately explain everything. The whole process is monotonous, Ireena thinks, and The Devil’s presence is only making everything worse.

Despite being in her late thirties, she can see the way Sokolov’s hands shake when she works. Beads of sweat roll down her face. She knows being in Castle Ravenloft and being under The Devil’s scrutiny is the last place she wants to be. She had known her for quite a few years; she had a kind heart and was not fit for stressors such as these.

“What can you do for her?” Strahd asks brusquely. His arms are crossed in front of his chest.

“I'm afraid there's not much, my lord. I can mend her broken ribs and give a tincture for the pain. It will be up to her body to balance the humors once more. However, Ireena is young and should be able to recover quickly. Bed rest and fluids are what she needs most.”

“She will live, yes?” Strahd asks.

“The odds are in her favor, yes. Should something change, however, I urge you to call upon me again. Now, to mend her ribs, I must ask that you leave the room, my lord, so that Ireena may undress.”

Strahd narrows his eyes at her. “I will turn around.”

“I am uncomfortable changing while another man is in the room,” Ireena adds. Anything to get _him_ out of there. She purposefully coughs slightly harder than usual. “I want to get this done and over with so that I may begin to feel better.”

Strahd holds his ground for several moments, his eyes darting between the both of them. Finally, he scoffs and turns to leave the room. “I will be right outside. Let me know when you are finished.” With that, Strahd closes the door behind him.

Sokolov’s attention snaps to her the minute the door is closed. “If you would be so kind as to undress, my lady. I will turn my back.” Her voice drops to a whisper and there is a coy smile on her face. _“You do not have to undress. I just get uncomfortable being observed by him.”_

Ireena gives a sigh of relief. She had not been looking forward to the arduous and painful process of trying to remove her upper garments. Before Sokolov can begin, Ireena lightly grabs her arm. There is a serious look in her green eyes. She leans forward. “ _Ismark Kolyanovich. How is he?_ ” she whispers. 

Sokolov blinks several times before recognition dawns on her face. _“The Burgomaster of Barovia Village?”_

“The Burgomaster, yes!”

Sokolov presses a silencing finger to her lips. “Please let me know if this becomes especially painful.” She lowers her voice again. _“The last I saw of him, he and five others were waiting in Barovia Village about to go on some quest.”_

Thank the gods he was still alive! She was so worried that something had happened to him after his recent encounter with The Devil. Her brother had never been known to keep a level head when it came to matters concerning her. She would not have been surprised if he had attempted some foolhardy plan to rescue her before thinking it through...

Sokolov's hands begin to glow with a radiant blue energy. Ireena has seen enough during her travels to recognize it as some sort of spell. Gently, she presses her hands to her sides and Ireena cannot help but hiss at the sensation. A warmth floods her body and the accompanying sting feels as if her ribs are being stitched together. 

Sokolov sighs. _“I have not seen him in some time, however. Nobody has. The rumor going around the village is that he and the rest of those travelers...”_ Her eyes dart up to hers and she catches herself. Ireena doesn't miss the way she avoids admitting to the dark fear that had been in the back of Ireena’s mind since arriving at the castle. 

Ireena grits her teeth and chokes back a sob. “Oh, gods…”

Sokolov's eyes dart between her and the door. “I know this is uncomfortable, but we are almost through. You are doing wonderfully.” Her eyes darken and she pulls her hands away. _“Ireena, I need you to listen to me.”_ She reaches into her bag and withdraws a small black vial. Her hands clasp around her own and she places the vial in the palm of her hands. _“This is a poison. It is not painful, but is reminiscent of falling into a deep slumber. It will cause your breathing to cease within ten minutes. If the time comes…”_ She inhales deeply. _“I trust you to use your best judgement. You are a strong woman, Ireena. The Morninglord’s blessings upon you.”_ She clears her throat. Her eyes look tired, as if she has aged considerably in the past ten minutes. “May we pray together, Ireena?”

Mute, Ireena nods her head. Her whole body feels numb. The sensation of the glass vial in her hands does not even register to her.

Sokolov begins to pray. The practiced words come easily off her tongue. “Even the darkest night cannot last forever, Dawn approaches, and you're its herald.”

Ireena closes her eyes and tries to swallow down the sting of her rising emotions. Dawn was such a foreign concept to her. This darkness had been present since she was born, since as long as anyone in Barovia Village could remember. How could she be its herald when she felt so vulnerable? So alone? She'd had Ismark, her personal dawn in the darkness, but even he had seemingly been taken from her. It makes her want to laugh past the tears starting to well in her eyes.

“You are the emissary of hope, salvation, and surcease. Liberate others from their fear and teach those you cannot release to endure just a little longer.”

 _Just a little bit longer._ Ironic, considering this woman has just handed her a vial of poison. Not even a cleric of the Morninglord could hold out hope for her. No, this was her prison. This was her tomb. 

“Justice comes to all evildoers eventually, not by man's laws, but by your hand and the torturous path of fate…” The cleric drones on, but the remaining words are lost upon Ireena.

Sokolov’s hands reassuringly squeeze her own. “The Morninglord's warmth will reach you no matter the decision you reach. We are all done. Ireena, you may put your clothes back on.” There is a solemn look on her face before she pulls her hands away and raises her voice once more. “My lord, we are finished!”

Ireena hides the vial beneath her pillow.

Strahd is quick to enter the room again. His dark eyes look Ireena over from head to toe, as if looking for any indication that harm had befallen her. His eyes settle on her face and his brows knit in concern. “What did you do… to my wife to make her cry?” He asks with barely restrained anger. The depths of his eyes flash red for a moment.

“Nothing, my lord. I merely—”

Strahd holds up a silencing hand. “Tatyana, what did she do to you?”

Her own eyes feel puffy when she glances up momentarily. “Nothing. It just… hurt is all. I feel fine.”

His eyes are back on Sokolov. “And you did not think to give her an anesthetic for the pain?”

Ireena can hear the shakiness in her voice as she speaks. “I asked her to t-tell me if the pain became too much. She was quite strong-willed and courageous through it all.”

“Yes, she is. Stubborn as well, it sounds like.” Strahd sighs through his nose and Sokolov's shoulders relax somewhat. “I thank you for your services. I will have my chamberlain pay you handsomely.”

Sokolov gives a small bow. “You are quite welcome, my lord. Please ensure that Lady Ireena gets plenty of rest. If anything changes in her health, do not hesitate to call upon me.”

Ireena places a light hand on her arm. Her eyes flash with sincerity. “Thank you.”

“It is late. I invite you to stay as my guest until morning,” says Strahd.

Sokolov hesitates. “I do not wish to burden you. I am okay with traveling—”

“Nonsense. You are not a burden at all. In fact, I insist. It will be beneficial to have you here over the night in case Ireena’s health takes a turn for the worse.” He gives a small smile, but there is just as much an underlying threat to it as well. “My chamberlain is outside waiting to direct you to your room. I wish you a pleasant night, my lady.”

Sokolov looks as if she is about to protest but quickly changes her mind. She gives another small bow before leaving the room. 

As soon as the door closes behind her, Strahd’s gaze is back on her. “These are not tears of pain. They are of heartbreak. Ireena, what did she say to you? I swear to the gods if she—“

Ireena cuts him off. “Strahd, m-may I ask a favor of you?”

His eyebrows shoot up at that. “Of course, my love. Anything.” He goes to sit beside her on the bed. It takes every ounce of her willpower not to recoil, especially when he wipes at a stray tear on her cheek with a deathly cold finger. Even being next to him makes her skin crawl.

She takes a deep breath and attempts to steady her own nerves. She coughs instead. “I am wracked with anxiety about my brother. I must know how he is doing, if-if he is still alive…”

“Mm, so you two were discussing your adopted brother, I see. Interesting.” The corners of his mouth twitch. “My kind-hearted Ireena, concerning herself with the wellbeing of others despite herself. Truly, you are a ray of sunshine in my life.” He pauses for a moment, as if deep in thought. “Yes, I suppose I can do this for you. Would you like to see him?”

Another cough wracks through her body. “See him?” The idea sends chills down her spine. There was always a catch with The Devil.

As if reading her thoughts, he lets out an amused hum. “Nothing malicious—this time, anyway. No, we can see him by drawing upon the arcane. Wait here for a moment and rest. I will be back.” With that, he stands up and leaves the room.

That was too easy. Despite him saying otherwise, she cannot help but think that there is something underlying this. Left alone with her thoughts, they begin to drift. At least she was led to believe that Ismark was still alive. She hoped that The Devil would not be so open as to showing her her brother’s corpse… 

The Devil comes back a few minutes later with something covered in a red velvet cloth in his hands. He sits down beside her again and pulls the cloth away to reveal what appears to be a translucent crystal ball almost the size of her head. Ireena peers into it curiously. Her own face bulges in the reflection.

Strahd turns his attention from it to her. “Are you certain about this? You may not be pleased with the results.”

She swallows heavily. “Yes.”

He nods. “Very well.” Strahd places the crystal ball on his lap. He produces a small vial with a red liquid inside it and pours a single drop onto the ball. The liquid is viscous, and it begins to slowly ooze down the sides. He hovers his hands above the object in his lap and begins quietly chanting in a language Ireena cannot understand. It comes out as a guttural, unpleasant sound. The sphere begins to glow in a low blue light, growing brighter as the time goes on until it almost pains her eyes to look at. A flash — bright enough to make Ireena temporarily close her eyes — and suddenly there is a picture in the crystal ball where there had not been one before. Strahd stops chanting and lowers his hands.

Focusing her eyes, Ireena can see that the picture in the sphere is moving. 

Her stomach knots in anticipation.

The picture sharpens and Ismark is in view. The room is illuminated by the glow of torchlight. Behind him, Ireena can see that the walls are a warm brown color that amply reflects the torchlight. He is wearing his splint mail. His long sword is in hand. With a great roar, he brings it down on something out of sight. 

“Ah, he is in the Amber Temple. I’m impressed they made it that far...” Strahd comments under his breath. 

“Where?” Ireena cannot tear herself away from the sight in front of her. Ismark is fighting something. By the distressed look on his face, it does not appear to be going well. There is a long bloody gash running down his cheek. His pale blond hair, now streaked with gray, flows loose and wild as he darts around the room.

“The Amber Temple. It is a temple of lore containing dark and forbidden knowledge. Very few even know of its existence. I am curious as to what the young burgomaster is hoping to find there…” 

Ismark’s eyes go wide for a moment and the room is engulfed in what looks to be orange flames. The view follows him as he is hurled against the wall with a cry before falling to the floor. 

“Ismark!” Ireena shrieks. Already she can feel tears begin to well up in her eyes; gods, she’s been doing a lot of that recently. She hates it. Beneath her breath, she whispers a prayer to the Morninglord — or to whomever will hear it and protect her poor brother. She holds her breath and watches. 

Her brother’s face is deep red and shiny on the left side. His left eyebrow is gone entirely. The rest of his hair is singed. His form does not stir, even after several moments.

“Ismark…?” Her bottom lip quivers. 

“He cannot hear you,” Strahd comments quietly.

“Ismark!” She feels as if she is going to be sick. “Ismark, get up! Please!” Her voice becomes louder until she is shrieking at the sight before her. “Gods, please get up, Ismark! Don't leave me! Not you, too!” 

Strahd is quick to put the red cloth over the crystal ball. “I should have known this was a terrible idea. It is not good for you to see your adopted brother like this…”

She turns her gaze to Strahd. Her green eyes are wild. “Strahd, you must help him! Please! I can't… not without him—! Please, I beg of you! Do whatever you want with me, just save my brother!”

“My sweet Ireena…” Hurt crosses his features and he sets his jaw. “Seeing you in pain hurts me to my very core. I would save Ismark in a heartbeat if it meant I could spare you of this heartbreak. Unfortunately, the location of the Amber Temple is unknown even to me…”

“But t-there must be something you can do…!”

“Not without knowing how to reach him, I'm afraid.”

“But… But…” Ireena’s breath comes out in panicked bursts. Her chest feels too tight, as if she is incapable of drawing in enough air. The image of Ismark’s burnt and motionless body haunts her thoughts. There has to be something he could do! He could control the weather! Surely there was some sort of magic he could use, or a spell to find his location, or…! There were still so many unanswered questions. Was Ismark alone? What was he fighting? What was he doing in such a dangerous place? Was he there because of her?

“I am terribly sorry about all of this, Ireena. That you had to witness your adopted brother passing—”

“He's not dead!” Ireena gasps. Her words sound unconvincing even to her own ears. 

“No, of course not.” Strahd is silent for several moments, as if deep in thought. He idly rests his hands atop the covered crystal ball. “All the way to the Amber Temple… If I had to guess, he was most certainly looking for some artifact to aid him in freeing you. A shame that he had to resort to such dangerous methods. I suppose it really speaks to the fraternal bond between you two that he would di—risk his life for you. It is beautiful, really.” He shakes his head sadly. "To think this all could have been avoided had you given your heart to me..."

Risking his life for her own… Her brother was often reckless when it came to her. She remembered how on more than one occasion he had fought off the packs of night creatures that would surround their home to keep her safe. The number of nights he had foregone his own rest to guard her as she slept. Yet never once did he complain. He would always give her his best attempt at a reassuring smile and remind her that he would keep her safe—no matter what. Even after their father’s passing, when she knew the burden of the world was resting on his shoulders, he was at her side, reassuring her as she threw herself upon her father's lifeless body. 

And here he was, throwing his life away in some stupid temple in the middle of nowhere! And for what? So that he could die anyway at the hands of The Devil? Just for her? She wasn't worth it. Ismark, her friends—they all had so much to live for.

And yet now...

The word repeats itself in her mind untilI it is all she can think of.

_Death._

Ireena throws her head back and wails. Gods, how it hurts her. The thought of losing him… First her father, and now him. Each wracking sob only makes her chest burn all the more.

There is a gentle hand on her shoulder.

For a moment Ireena forgets herself and buries herself into the chest of the nearest person, desperate for comfort. She coughs between choked sobs into the thick wool of his doublet. 

Strong arms wrap around her back, pull her close. The weight on her back is reassuring. She is faintly aware of someone hushing her and whispering reassurances into the crown of her head.

“My Tatyana… I will keep you safe, no matter what.”

Her fists curl into the fabric of his cloak. She stays like that for what feels like hours, gently being rocked while tears stream down her face. This goes on until she feels she has no more tears to shed for her stupid, foolhardy, stubborn, brave brother. For her father. For her old life in Barovia Village before everything turned to shit.

Eventually, the spasms in her chest die down into small hiccups and she feels somewhat cognizant again. Her back is being rubbed. As if she were a child.

The hair on the back of her neck rises and her blood turns cold in her veins. As if burned, she pulls away.

Her eyes feel itchy and red, yet Ireena still manages to glower at the monster beside her. She's tired, too tired to deal with this and any possible implications. There is a feigned look of concern etched into his pale features. Before The Devil even has time to open his mouth and spew forth honeyed words, she points to the door with a shaking finger.

“Leave,” she croaks. Her throat burns.

An unreadable look crosses Strahd's face. The front of his doublet is dark with her tears. She tries not to think about it. With a slight nod, The Devil grabs the crystal ball from beside him on the bed and rises.

“If you need anything during this difficult time, I am here for you.” His voice is somber. With that, he exits and closes the door behind him. 


	6. Chapter 6

_ Medicinal Turmeric Tincture _

_ 150 mg _

The label is written in black ink with neat, precise handwriting.

The smooth glass vial feels comforting between her hands. Ireena rolls it between her palms, observes the way the translucent liquid sloshes about. It catches the barest rays of blue-tinted lamplight and diffuses it across her face like stained glass. 

The healer, Sokolov, had said that it wouldn't hurt, that it would be more akin to falling asleep. Sleep—she could do sleep. There was no pain in sleep. It would only take ten minutes, but what if she changed her mind during that time?

Ireena takes a deep breath to steady her racing thoughts.

Pros: it wouldn’t hurt. She could finally be free of The Devil. He could no longer have her, could no longer torment her. It would cause him much pain. People would stop recklessly giving their life trying to protect her.

Cons: she would miss out on all of the other beautiful things in life, like music and the songs of birds and the freshly fallen snow. She would be without her friends. She wouldn’t know the thrill of driving a stake through The Devil's undead heart. If the pattern continued, there would be others after her who would surely suffer by his hand. 

How dare he drive her to contemplate such decisions! She was 17, far too young to be thinking of such things! She should be out enjoying her youth, not… this!

This is all The Devil’s fault. He could not take no for an answer, so he made it his personal mission to make the lives of everyone else miserable—as miserable as his own sad life. He was no ruler. No, he was a coward. A pathetic excuse for a man. Ireena hated him with every fiber of her being. 

She missed Ismark. Despite his youth, he was wise beyond his years. She missed her father as well. In the past, she had always gone to him whenever she had had a dilemma. Back then, however, they had usually concerned more trivial matters—should she get the red scarf or the blue scarf?—and not whether she should take her own life so that some monster could not pretend to have her.

Ireena sits up from her spot on her bed. It is daytime, yet no light filters in through her window despite the curtains being drawn. The wind howls outside and shakes the window panes in their frame. Once more, she rolls the bottle between her palms. Contemplating. It’s smooth familiar texture is almost comforting.

It is the daytime. Surely The Devil would not find her within ten minutes…

Should she write a note? Tell her friends why she made the decision she did and apologize for any harm that had befallen them for her sake. Surely they would understand her decision given the circumstances. Would her friends even receive it? No, The Devil would certainly never let it be seen by any eyes but his.

Her head swims with hundreds of questions. 

But what if he did find her shortly after taking the poison? What would be the consequences? 

Could she really do this?

Yes. 

Steeling herself, she removes the stopper and downs its contents before she has a moment to reconsider. It tastes terribly bitter on her tongue, but she grimaces and swallows it. 

A sense of dead begins to fill her, its icy claws wrenching at her heart. There is no going back. 

A single tear rolls down her face and she lays back upon the bed. She laces her fingers together over the vial and rests her hands on her belly. There is nothing else to do but wait.

Several minutes go by and she does not feel any different. She begins to question whether the poison had even worked. 

Her thoughts begin to wander. To the sights she had seen around Barovia, both gruesome and breathtaking. She'd seen her first waterfall and her first vineyard. And she had seen many terrible sights. Death. Decay. Gruesome murders. She'd taken her first life. The bandit’s screams upon her blade piercing his stomach would fill her nightmares for the next three days. 

Her thoughts wander to how the past week of adventures had been one of the most exciting times of her sheltered life. If only she had been able to spend more time adventuring than cowering in her father's manor…

Her eyelids begin to feel heavy, and suddenly she is struggling to keep her eyes open. The rise and fall of her stomach begins to slow until she can barely perceive the movements.

She is faintly aware of the castle shaking violently. It rumbles her bed. Small pieces of dust and debris land upon her clammy forehead. There is the sound of her window clacking even more violently in its frame as fierce winds seep through cracks in the stonework.

Unable to resist any longer, Ireena allows her eyelids to close…

The door to her room flies open.

“Ireena? My darling, are you alright?”

Her thoughts drift to Ismark. She hopes that he is doing okay. Or that they'll get to meet again soon. That goat’s butter she had had earlier that week was quite good. 

“Tatyana?”

Had she remembered to make her bed earlier? She has the beginnings of a headache.

“Is she…?” Footsteps begin to enter her room. “No. No, no, no, NO!” Strahd roars, yet his voice barely registers in Ireena’s brain. There is a loud crack of thunder in the distance that shakes the very foundations of the castle. “How did this happen? How could you let this happen, Rahadin?!”

The dusk elf stammers something incomprehensible.

“No…” Strahd's voice cracks. There is the sound of something shifting, and suddenly Ireena can feel herself being lifted. Her vision focuses enough to make out Strahd's face staring down at her, his eyebrows upturned. Her head is nestled in the crook of his arm. For once, his face is painted with deep sorrow. Not for her, she knows, but what she represents.

The glass vial beneath her hands is pulled out by cold fingers. Cracking her eyes, she can barely make out Strahd unstopping the vial with a thumb and bringing it up to his nose. His face contorts—first in disgust and then in rage.

“...Dragon’s yew. A poison. In my own home.” His voice is soft at first but gradually grows louder as he speaks. “I extend every courtesy, and yet… How could I be so blind, so naïve?” There’s the sound of glass shattering in the distance as Strahd throws the vial, his body practically trembling with anger. He roars.

Harsh fingers press against the side of her neck, checking for a pulse. They drift to her wrist.

“Where is Sokolov?” Strahd bellows, never taking his eyes off her.

Rahadin’s voice answers. “In the guest quarters, I believe.”

“Bring the traitorous whore to me. NOW!” His booming voice reverberates against the high ceilings of the room. Ireena is faintly aware of Rahadin leaving before she begins to ebb and flow out of consciousness.

She doesn't know how much time passes. A minute, an hour. She can't think straight. Her head feels like it is full of cotton. It's peaceful. At some point, the mouth of a bottle is pressed to her lips and The Devil urges her to drink. She refuses. There is a tight pressure on her upper arms. Her entire body is cold.

_ Cold _ .

Her vision goes black again.

_ Cold. _

_ … _

_... _

A great surge of energy, scalding hot, rushes through her body and jolts Ireena awake with a stuttering gasp. Every nerve of hers feels alight with fire.

Where is she? 

Staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, she can hear panicked screaming and what sounds like a gust of wind billowing in the room. She feels light headed. There is a feeling of liquid warmth crawling up her toes and into her legs until it has reached her chest. Ireena tries to sit up, but there is a great weight pressing against her chest—a pale hand swathed in dark swirling shadows.

Unable to move, Ireena turns her head towards the source of the screaming. Her eyes lock with those of Sokolov. She is laying on her back beside her. Her brown hair, typically tied up, flies loose and is whipped around her face by whatever force is present within the room. Her eyes are wide with unbridled terror, her mouth agape as another bloodcurdling scream issues forth. Her flesh is pale, unnaturally so. 

From the corner of her eye she sees Strahd sitting on his haunches between them. His other hand is pressed to Sokolov’s chest. The same shadowy force flows out from Sokolov’s chest and into Strahd’s extended arm. Between them, Strahd’s eyes have rolled back into his head. His lips move as if whispering something, but Ireena cannot make out the words past the billowing in her ears.

With one final surge of strength, Sokolov bucks beneath Strahd’s hand. Darker-skinned hands clamp down on Sokolov’s wrists and hold them in place while she writhes violently. 

Finally, the healer’s screams die down into a weak whimper, followed by silence. Ireena watches in mute horror as Sokolov’s eyes and cheeks hollow out until she looks more corpse-like than human.

The shadowy energy fades away along with the warmth spreading throughout Ireena’s body. The weight on her chest lifts, and suddenly Ireena feels that she can breath again. With a cough, Ireena shoots up into a sitting position. The sudden movement is enough to send Strahd tumbling backwards; he catches himself and readjusts into a sitting position, his arms behind him supporting his weight.

“Where am I? What is going on?” Ireena pants. She feels stronger than she has in a long time, as if every nerve in her body is brimming with energy. 

“Back with the living,” Strahd answers. A sharp contrast to her, he sounds exhausted. His voice lacks its usual bravado and instead comes out barely louder than a whisper. He clears his throat.

Rahadin speaks up. “My master has been gracious enough to save your ungrateful life after the little  _ stint  _ you pulled.” He pulls his hands away from Sokolov’s wrists, and Ireena is suddenly reminded of the healer.

Sokolov’s blank eyes stare ahead. Her body does not move.

“Is she…?” Ireena points a shaking finger at the body beside her.

“Yes. So that you could live.” Strahd runs a hand through his long hair in an attempt to smooth the stray stands.

“Oh, gods…” She died so that she could live. By the look of things, whatever life force healer Sokolov had was transferred into her body. Through some sort of… of  _ dark magic  _ she couldn't even begin to comprehend! This wasn't the work of the gods—the gods would never be this merciless. No, this was the work of a devil. Because of her, this innocent woman died!

No, there was no way she could have known this would happen! It was The Devil’s own doing! If only death had taken her sooner…

But  _ had  _ this happened because she was being selfish? Was her freedom and her life more important than those that had lost theirs for her sake? This woman, her father, her friends who had died trying to protect her from The Devil? At what point did her self-preservation become selfishness?

The sound of Strahd’s voice snaps Ireena back to reality. He beckons to Rahadin with two clawed fingers. Rahadin tilts his head slightly in question but obliges. The dusk elf steps closer and begins to kneel before Strahd. Before his knees can hit the ground, however, Strahd lunges forward. Faster than Rahadin can react, Strahd's arms wrap behind his neck and the vampire pulls him down to his level. Rahadin lets out a distressed cry as Strahd's fangs sink into his neck. 

“Strahd—!” Rahadin pushes at Strahd's chest but the vampire’s grip holds fast. The expression on the dusk elf’s face contorts from surprise to pained panic. He murmurs something under his breath and suddenly Strahd is grasping at mist. Strahd's chamberlain reappears at the far end of the room, his chest heaving. Blood is trickling from two puncture wounds in his neck and he is quick to wrap his hand around the wound.

_ “You promised me you would never do that!”  _ Rahadin hisses. His eyes narrow in on Strahd, who wipes at his mouth with the back of his sleeve. 

With a content hum, Strahd stands back up and returns Rahadin’s glare. “Let this  _ little stint,  _ as you so kindly put it, happen again and I will be taking more than your blood,  _ elf.  _ Do not talk down to my wife.” __

“I—” Rahadin opens his mouth as if to say something but quickly changes his mind. He gives an indignant huff. “I apologize, Count von Zarovich. I shall not let it happen again.”

“I know you won't.” There is a brief stretch of silence between them before The Devil clears his throat. “I trust you can make arrangements for this,” he gestures to Sokolov’s body, “to be taken care of? I would like the body to be prepared for me to see to later—no use in letting it go to waste.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Good. Make haste, then.” The Devil turns his attention towards her. “Ireena, how are you feeling?” Strahd reaches a hand out towards her; she does not take it. Rather than gratifying him with a response, Ireena glares at him the best that she can.

“You had me incredibly worried. To feel you call out in pain through our connection, only to find you laying here with a vial of poison in your hands... Your heartbeat imperceptible… It was almost more than I could bear—the thought of losing you again. It’s such a shame that this poor woman had to die because of your belief that you could escape me.”

Ireena can feel tears welling up in her eyes. “I will escape from here. I am not an animal; you cannot cage me and expect me to be placid!” she spits.

“My dear, you are only  _ caged  _ here, as you call it, because you have demonstrated that you cannot yet be trusted. I would love nothing more than for you to mingle with your subjects and explore the beautiful countryside of Barovia. However, only when you are mine and I can rest safely knowing that you will return home to your husband each night will you be given such a privilege.”

There is a somber look on his face. His voice is soft as he speaks. “If only you were to give me a chance to prove my love to you… Maybe then you could see that I am not the devil the townspeople make me out to be. I am merely a man in love with the desire to prove myself to you.”

“You are a devil! You murder innocent civilians. You have an army of… of undead  _ things  _ and werewolves prowling about your lands! The heart of a mortal man does not beat inside you. You have no heart at all! No, I will never give you a chance, and neither will those that come after me! You are destined to be alone because you are a pathetic excuse of a man! You should have let me die!”

Ireena spits at his boots and she watches as Strahd's face contorts in anger. He rushes forward, his hand pulled back as if to backhand her, only to jerk his hand away at the last moment. Instead, his bends forward to stare at her, his eyes mere inches away from her own. 

From this distance, she can see the details of his eyes. What strikes her the most is that there is no color. Where there should be irises—blue as the water like Sergei’s—there is only inky blackness. Despite his best efforts at stopping the inevitable effects of time, she notices the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, the deep smile lines around his mouth. She can smell the unforgettable coppery tang of blood on his breath as he speaks.

“I gave my heart for you four centuries ago, my darling Tatyana. No longer having the beating heart of a man is a small price to pay to have you by my side. To have dominion over the land, to  _ be  _ the land. If I cannot have you this lifetime then you can be more than certain I will have you in the next.”

There is the sound of scampering outside of her quarters. Two humans—no,  _ spawn  _ judging by the pallor of their skin—poke their heads past the door frame, their noses raised to scent the drying blood on the floor beside her. Hunger flashes in their eyes.

“Manacle Ireena here to the leg of the bed. Give her chains enough slack so that she may wander as far as the door, but no further.” Strahd commands, his voice a low baritone. “She has made it apparent that she cannot be left to her own devices.”

“Yes, Master,” the two vampire spawn hiss in unison. The male sprints out of the room while the female begins to lumber towards her, a look of sadistic glee on her face.

“Do not eat her, please.” The Devil waves a dismissive hand as he turns to leave the room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those that have been keeping up with this story as I post chapters, this is a new one that I'm adding before what was originally chapter 7 (which is now chapter 8!)

A steel manacle is placed around her right wrist. Connecting her to the foot of the bed is approximately 15 feet of chain. (She has measured it five times now using her own feet as reference.) True to his word, the length is enough for her to open the door to her bedroom but not long enough for her to step foot past its frame. The metal chafes terribly around her wrist. She notices it the most at night when it forces her to lay on her back rather than her side as she is accustomed to. 

Dressing in the morning is an inconvenience, so much so that she elects to no longer change clothes. Instead, she lives and sleeps in her old undershirt and trousers—the same ones she had come to the castle in. They offer her some comfort, at least, even if they had begun to smell. 

She occasionally runs a comb through her auburn hair to get the tangles out. Yet there is no purpose in maintaining herself when the only people who see her anymore are the vampire spawn, The Devil, and some abhorrent dog-human hybrid that calls himself Cyrus.

After four days of being unable to leave her quarters, there is a knock at her door, followed by a baritone voice calling out to her. “Ireena? May I come in?” She immediately recognizes it as belonging to The Devil. 

It is not even evening yet; The Devil typically does not summon her this early in the day, much less stir. (She had learned the hard way that he was, unfortunately, able to go about his business in the daytime. Previously, she and everyone else in the Village of Barovia had thought that the undead could only walk at night.) Ireena does not respond in the hopes that he will leave.

He does not. “I know you’re awake. Are you presentable, at the least?”

With a huff, Ireena none too gently places the book she had been reading down on the table. “I have nothing to say to you. Begone.”

There is an exaggerated sigh from behind the door. Not bothering to wait for her to bid him entry, Strahd opens the door. He is dressed in blood red plate armor with gold detail work. A raven—the Von Zarovich crest, Ireena had learned—is emblazoned on the front of the breastplate. It is a curious sight; Ireena does not recall ever having seen The Devil wear armor before, not even for combat.

Strahd bows slightly in greeting yet does not cross the threshold of her room. “My lady, might you grant me the honor of taking a stroll with me through the chapel garden?”

The chain around her wrist rattles as she raises her arms. “My very benevolent and not at all sadistic captor has ordered me to stay in my quarters.”

That elicits a small chuckle from Strahd. “I’m sure your very benevolent and not at all sadistic captor would be more than happy to release you from your manacles for the evening. It will do you good to get some fresh air. The valley is especially beautiful at this time of the year.”

“Why? You’ve never offered to let me leave the confines of the castle before.” Ireena narrows her eyes at the creature. It had been weeks—months?—since she had seen the outside. Nothing would please her more than to be able to step foot on green grass once more. Yet she is rightly cautious. No more than a week ago had she attempted to take her own life and she was certain that The Devil still bore bitter feelings of resentment surrounding it. 

Strahd spreads his hands before him. “It is a special occasion and I wish to spend time with you. Come now. We shall enjoy the garden and then enjoy one another’s company over a grand dinner.” He nods at the manacle on her right wrist and mutters under his breath. Suddenly, a loud sound that resembles a single knock reverberates throughout the castle and the manacle falls away through some arcane force. Strahd continues, “Dress in your finest and meet me downstairs in the great entry when you are ready.” 

With that, Strahd turns to leave and closes the door behind him. 

Absentmindedly, Ireena rubs at the angry chafed skin of her right wrist and kicks the chains further away from her.  _ A special occasion.  _ Ireena cannot even begin to fathom what that could be referring to. No doubt thousands of noteworthy events had occurred during The Devil’s unnaturally long life, yet what did he consider to be a special occasion—especially one in which he would don armor? 

Did she want to be a part of whatever this special occasion was? Not particularly, but she was very much interested in being able to go outside and to be out of her manacles for the night. She was beginning to forget what a gentle breeze on her skin felt like, or the sweet smell of grasses. It would do her some good… She refused to change outfits for him, though, and she refused to partake in the dinner.  _ Enjoying one another’s company,’  _ as The Devil had put it, did not sound appealing in the slightest, especially after their last encounter… Sokolov’s pallid and emaciated face still haunted her. 

With a sigh, Ireena went through the motions of putting on her boots before heading towards the great entry. 

Strahd is waiting for her when she descends down the final staircase and his attention snaps to her. His eyes trail over her, as if appraising her, before the corners of his mouth tug down into a frown upon noticing that she had not changed into formalwear. If he disproves he does not say anything, however. Instead, he holds an arm out for Ireena to take. “Shall we?”

Ireena does not take his arm but does reluctantly follow him as he leads her out the entry and into the front courtyard of Ravenloft. Much to her disappointment, she is unable to see much greenery past the high walls surrounding the castle but she can see that the drawbridge spanning the canyon is down. There is a gentle breeze that ruffles her hair, and she inhales deeply, fills her lungs with something that is not the stagnant air of Ravenloft for once. The wind cuts through her undershirt and nips at her skin beneath, and suddenly Ireena wishes that she had decided to change into something warmer.

“Come, this way,” Strahd urges, and he veers off to the right. Had Ireena not known better, she would say that The Devil almost seems… jaunty for once. That alone is enough to put her on edge. He keeps glancing behind him to make sure that she is still following and smiling at her—or some semblance of a smile, at least.

They approach a rusted iron portcullis. Strahd mutters another phrase under his breath and it raises with a shrill creaking sound. He leads her through another courtyard. In the corner, Ireena notices a carriage house that no doubt stores the iconic black carriage that had struck fear into the hearts of so many Barovians. 

At the back of the castle, Ireena can see the massive stained glass window of the chapel casting vivid colors onto the courtyard below as the sun, heavily obscured by the clouds, crawls towards the horizon once more. They approach a small fenced off area, and Ireena can smell the sickly sweetness on the breeze before she sees the plants themselves: a garden! Where the garden had once, according to Rahadin, been bereft of living vegetation before, it is now bursting with plant life and bushes that rise to mid-thigh. Red blossoms, as big as her hand, stand out against the green leaves. Ireena could have wept at how breathtaking the sight was; it had been so long since she had seen such beauty.

She tears away to dart towards one of the bushes. She leans over to smell one of the biggest blooms. A fly zips past her nose when she jostles its leaves and she is quick to pull her head away. It is then that she notices the smile on her face that had snuck up out of nowhere. Turning her head, she can see that The Devil’s gaze is transfixed on her face, judging her reaction. His thin lips are also stretched into a grin, a look of adoration in his eyes. It looks exceedingly unnatural against his sunken features.

“These are beautiful! What are these, roses? I had no idea they grew on bushes! I have seen sketches of them in books but I had no idea they could grow in Barovia!” She chooses not to mention the roses The Devil had gifted her; those were tainted and she wanted nothing to do with them.

“I believe this is the most I’ve ever heard you speak at once.” Strahd chuckles. “Yes, they are roses. From what I understand, they require many hours of direct sunlight a day and thus are not suited to grow in Barovia in its current state. Through the arcane, however, we can bend the will of nature and circumvent such requirements. I was able to pull some strings and,” he gestures out broadly, “here we are. I’m glad you like it.”

Ireena is only partially paying attention to him. She is too absorbed in taking in her surroundings, of trying to etch each and every detail into her memory. Flowers were a rare sight in Barovia. The only blooms she saw were of the weeds that grew on the sides of paths and the rare lily. She’d always dreamed of being surrounded by flowers; writers of yore often wrote of their breathtaking beauty and sweet scent that had filled the valley. Once upon a time, the green lands of Barovia had been dotted with chamomile, azaleas, and orchids. Now, farmers were lucky if they could even get their potato crops to bloom.

“I cannot take credit for all of this, however. I entrusted Rahadin with the gardening aspect of this little endeavor as his knack for plants is, admittedly, leagues above my own. However, I can appreciate beauty when I see it.”

“Mhm.” Ireena goes to caress one of their blooms. Something pricks her skin and she is quick to pull her hand away. There is a small drop of blood on her finger and she brings it to her mouth. 

“Be mindful of the thorns,” Strahd snaps, his voice taut. Ireena can feel his gaze boring into the back of her neck. He sighs. “Ireena, my darling, would you like one?”

Hesitant, Ireena nods her head and dares to briefly meet his gaze. Upon noticing her gaze, his smile widens. The expression looks forced, unnatural. His gaze lingers just a moment too long before he kneels in front of a rose bush. Retrieving a dagger from his waist, he cuts three roses from the plant. He removes the thorns from the stems before handing the small bouquet to her.

“Castle Ravenloft had a rose garden many centuries ago. Do you remember it, Ireena?”

Rather than responding, Ireena chooses to focus on the roses—a small garden in her own hands. The petals feel soft and fragile beneath her fingers, and she can’t help but lament upon how in a week’s time, these, too, would be dead. Perhaps it was selfish of her to think she could take this beauty for herself rather than let them prosper on their own…

Strahd does not wait for her response and continues, “My mother, Queen Ravenovia, was enamored with roses just as you are. As Castle Ravenloft was named in her honor, I only found it appropriate to have the artisans include a rose garden during the castle’s construction. Unfortunately, my mother passed away before she could bear witness to it, but I was pleased that my beloved Tatyana found joy in it. And now you are finding the joy in it once more.”

Ireena can’t help but roll her eyes at the mention of  _ Tatyana  _ once again. The poor girl.

“You loved the rose garden. In time, I, too, grew to love that garden. I admired it for its beauty, for its rustic charm. Most of all, however, I loved it for the smile it brought to your face. Gods, how your smile could brighten the room...” He looks wistful. “Your smile was like the first rays of sunshine after a bitter winter. Even now, seeing your face light up stirred emotions in me that I had thought long gone.” His gaze rests for several moments upon a closed gate leading to what appears to be an overlook. He shakes his head lightly as if snapping out of a stupor.

Before she realizes what he is doing, The Devil reaches out and, gentle and forceful all at once, grabs her hand. He dips down to press his lips to the tip of her fingers. His lips, much like his hands, are cold as a corpse and she can’t help but shiver. He lifts his eyes to hers once more.

“Ireena, you make me want to be a better man. I know you don’t approve of what I’ve done — what I’ve done for  _ you —  _ and I want to make it right. If I had you by my side, gods…” His voice grows wistful for a moment. “We could do so much good for this valley, Ireena — you and I as husband and wife. As it should have been all those years ago. Save me from this… this  _ prison,”  _ he gestures vaguely, “and help me become a husband you won’t look upon in shame. In horror.”

Before she has time to process it, Strahd kneels before her. Her hand is still clasped in his and he kisses her hand once more.

“Ireena, my darling, will you marry me?”

For several moments, she just stares at him. It is not that she is without words--she has  _ plenty _ of words--but dumbfounded. Dumbfounded that he would even  _ consider  _ speaking those words to her. Dumbfounded that he was so arrogant, so ignorant of the suffering she had endured by his hand. That he would have the audacity, the  _ gall,  _ to propose to her! After she had so clearly communicated that she wanted nothing to do with him!

Her body is practically shaking with fury. “How dare you…” Ireena starts.  _ “How dare you!  _ Attempting to defile something as sacred as marriage with-with your honeyed words! It is not my responsibility to change you, to  _ save  _ you as if this is some sort of fairytale. You have stalked me. You have struck me. You have killed those close to me. No, this is no fairytale. This is a nightmare. You are evil. You are  _ sick  _ and  _ twisted  _ and I hate you!” 

Ireena rips her hand from his, leaving The Devil with a stunned expression on his face.

Thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance.

She doesn’t know what comes over her, just that she would rather be anywhere else than there. She needs to escape somehow.

_ The overlook.  _

If she could reach that, climb the wall...

Like that, she takes off. 

It still hurts her to run, so Ireena briskly walks as fast as she can without her still tender ribs hurting her. She knows she cannot escape The Devil if he chose to pursue her. Hells, she knows that even if she were able to run she could not outpace him. Yet she is so disgusted with the entire situation that she is willing to risk it. For her freedom.

She rams her shoulder into the iron gate and it opens with a screech. Before she can lose her balance from the impact, however, she can feel some sort of force wrap around her and she is pulled back hard enough to take her breath away, the heels of her boots skidding against the ground.

“You can’t take her from me! Not this time!” Strahd’s voice roars behind her with an untethered fury she has never heard before. She is jerked back another ten feet until she is beside him. Her limbs are seemingly frozen in place and she struggles to draw air into her lungs. His ideas are dark, feral. All of the fat, what little there was, has seemingly melted from his face, making him appear more animal than man. He bares his elongated fangs and lunges at her.

A shriek is ripped from her throat. The ivory glint of fangs is the last thing she sees before she squeezes her eyes shut. 

Pain does not come, however. Yet she can feel the slight tug of teeth, unmoving, against her throat. She cracks her eyes enough to see that Strahd’s face has returned to its more human-like appearance. Yet his eyes are wide and have a haunted look to them that Ireena cannot even begin to describe. She prays her gratitude that his fangs had not broken skin. 

His concentration on the spell breaks, and Ireena lands on her shins. She gasps in lungfuls of air and is quick to rise to her feet once more despite her protesting ribs. As she does this, Strahd continues to stare off into the horizon and does not react even when Ireena dashes back out the way they had come. Out of the chapel garden, through the portcullis gate, and straight ahead through the courtyard.

She does not stop running—limping, rather—until she has crossed the drawbridge. Ireena refuses to look behind her. If she catches even a glimpse of those red eyes, those snarling fangs, behind her… She doesn’t want to think about it. Instead, she presses on and carefully begins the descent down the peak.

A streak of lightning tears open the sky and a cold rain begins to fall, heavier and heavier until her hair is a sopping mess and she has to stop to push it away from her eyes. Thunder booms close enough for Ireena to feel it deep in her chest.

Her chest heaves as she pushes forward. The rain has thoroughly soaked through her clothes and the cold has seemingly begun to sink into her bones. Her teeth chatter and she wraps her arms around herself to ward off the chill. 

The path seems to stretch on for miles. It is already dark out and she can barely make out the road ahead of her. Occasionally, Ireena passes under a looming evergreen dotted along the path. Unless… She has already passed this tree? Surely she should have reached the opening of the forest by now! She should be able to see the glimmer of Barovia Village somewhere in the distance!

She sloshes through a particularly deep puddle and water fills her boots. It takes several moments and a lot of pained yanking for her to pull her feet out of the mud. Ireena groans inwardly; her toes already feel like ice and this certainly isn't helping matters! She presses on.

A part of her is surprised that The Devil is not chasing her. She has heard no footfalls or the splashing of water behind her to indicate that she was being followed. His baritone voice had not roared out to her over the crack of thunder. It's strange, she thinks. 

The ground slips out from beneath her as she slides in another puddle. No amount of flailing saves her from her landing on her backside right in the puddle. The force is enough to jostle her still tender ribs and she lets out a pained gasp. The water comes up to the middle of her thigh when she is sitting and already Ireena can feel the mud beginning to seep into her clothes.

With a frustrated screech, she slaps at the surface of the water. Bits of mud fly up and cling to her face and she is sick and tired of this! At this rate, she was going to become a fish before she even made it to the village!

A voice calls out from behind her. “I gave you all of this time and you only made it this far?”

Ireena scrabbles to turn around. A flash of lightning briefly illuminates the silhouette of The Devil leaning against an evergreen no more than six feet away from her, his arms crossed. His mouth is set in a hard line. 

“Stay away from me!” Ireena steels herself, yet her chattering teeth give her away.

Strahd sighs and goes to approach her. As he crouches to presumably pick her up, Ireena throws a punch as hard as she can at The Devil’s face—hard enough for her knuckles to ache. The punch connects to his cheekbone, yet he does react. Does not even flinch. Another punch, this time connecting with his jaw. His jaw gives with her fist, effectively breaking it and giving Ireena a strange sense of satisfaction at the sickening pop it makes.  _ That  _ is enough to make him flinch and grunt in pain. Yet not moments later, his jaw, as if on its own accord, shifts and sets itself once more despite having been hanging loose in the socket not moments prior. He shifts his jaw, as if testing to make sure everything is back in place. Ireena stares at him in shock.

He glowers down at her. “I am in no mood for games.” 

Again, he moves to pick her up and Ireena does not resist this time. What could she even do against a creature whose jaw could magically reset itself? If he wanted her back at the castle, he would ensure that she made it back there. As much as she hated that place, hated him, she could continue to bide her time until the proper opportunity to escape presented itself. What were a few more weeks of slowly losing her sanity? She would find a way out, though, through one means or another—of that she is certain. Nothing would bring her more joy than to see him suffer.

Placing one boot in the puddle, he places one arm under her legs and the other under her back before effortlessly hoisting her up. The position causes her to be far closer to The Devil than she would like, but she appreciates not having to put the additional strain on her ribs by trekking back up the peak herself. She is cold and tired and  _ miserable _ and the sooner she can get out of her wet clothes and go to sleep and try and forget about everything for eight blissful hours, the better; even eight hours of nightmares were better than her reality. 

From this position, Ireena can see the thinly veiled displeasure on The Devil’s face as he treks back up the path, unbothered by the steady pour of rain and shallow pools of mud. His hair clings to his gaunt face in wet strands. For most of the journey, he does not look at her. Ireena is grateful for that. 

“Can you not see that I am _trying?_ ” says Strahd after several minutes of silent brooding. Upon getting no response from Ireena, he continues. “I am trying to be a gracious host to you and to make your stay as comfortable as possible. I’ve tried being a gracious host to your little friends as well, yet they spit in the face of my hospitality at every given opportunity. You are no different; you have done nothing but disrespect me since your arrival at my home. I bring you gifts and you throw them on the ground. I prepare grand meals for you and you cannot even extend the courtesy of showing up. I give you permission to explore my castle and you attempt to take your own life. I bare my soul to you and you attempt to _throw yourself off of the overlook._ ” He says the last words through clenched teeth. “And now look at you: soaked to the bone and caked in mud like some unwashed peasant. And yet you are still the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.”

In the distance, Ireena can make out the faint flicker of torchlight emanating from the windows of the castle. They cross the drawbridge and it raises behind them on rusted chains. 

“I’m sure you must think I am angry with you for refusing my proposal. I am not. Rather, I am hopeful. Hopeful that you will soon come to your senses and comprehend the opportunity before you should you only give your heart to me.” For the first time, he looks down at her and Ireena’s attention is drawn to his pointed canines as he speaks. “In time, when we are husband and wife, we will look back on this day and laugh.”

A peal of thunder shakes the castle as they cross the entry.

Rahadin is waiting for them in the great entry. Upon seeing her in The Devil’s arms, his face lights up—a phrase she would not generally use regarding the dusk elf—and he clasps his hands together in delight. “My lord and lady! I believe congratulations are in order—”

One glare from The Devil is all it takes to quickly silence the chamberlain. His expression sours once more.

“Have Cyrus prepare a bath for Ireena and ensure that the hearth in her quarters is fed. Once she has finished, have him put her back in the manacles.” The Devil’s affect is flat as he speaks.

“I believe Cyrus is currently tending to the  _ larders,  _ my lord. However, I am free to—”

“ _ No. _ You are not to come near her.”

“I… Yes, Master.”

Strahd crouches to let Ireena down. “I will be in my study. See to it that I am not disturbed tonight.” 

“Yes, Master.”

Without another word, Strahd ascends up the nearby staircase.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those that have been keeping up with this story as I post chapters, I added a new one that takes place before this chapter. (It is now chapter 7!)

Had Cyrus, the hybrid creature that had been waiting on her as of late, not been a devoted servant of The Devil, Ireena may have pitied the creature. He was a hunchbacked thing with a man’s face on a dog’s head. Where his left foot should have been was the webbed foot of a waterfowl. He was dressed in a dirty tunic and walked with a limp wherever he went.

When he had knocked on her door and entered for the first time, it took all Ireena had not to scream at the creature. However, he quickly explained that he was there under orders to deliver her afternoon meal. He continued to visit her three times a day, just as the dusk elf had.

Unlike Rahadin, Cyrus rarely addressed her unless she spoke to him first. It appeared that he preferred to keep to himself, mostly, and would often babble to himself. Occasionally, he broke out into fits of laughter at jokes only he could hear. It unnerved Ireena. It was obvious that the creature was not in his right state of mind. Not that she could blame him, however; oftentimes she felt as if she was beginning to lose her mind and she had undoubtedly been at the castle for far less time.

“Where is Rahadin?” Ireena asks after a week, feeling emboldened. “He is the one that typically delivers my meals.”

“Master Rahadin has asked me to do it. And I do not question Master Rahadin. He does not like to be questioned and his punishments are awfully painful.” Cyrus chuckles. ”I got 20 lashes last time! Right on the back. Nasty business.”

“Is he alright?”

“Master Rahadin?” Cyrus brings a finger to his mouth and ponders for a moment. “I saw him earlier today. He did not seem any different. He kicked me, but that is not any different than usual.”

“I see.” Damn. She would not have been upset if The Devil had killed him in his anger. The slimy child murderer… “Cyrus, why do you stay here if everyone is so cruel to you?”

Cyrus shrugs two massive shoulders. Something in his knapsack jingles with the movement. “I like it here. My brothers and sisters serve a crazy man at the Abbey but I am lucky that I get to serve Master Strahd. I have a place to sleep and a job and lots of rat friends and treasure here.”

“Yet surely there are places outside of the castle and the Abbey where you could find employment? Be free from this cruel treatment?”

“But then I do not get to serve Master Strahd or see my rat friends or look at my treasures. I like it here.”

Something in his words makes Ireena sad for the man — that he viewed his mistreatment as a small price to pay to have a home. It seemed like a classic case of Stockholm syndrome to Ireena. Yet she still knew very little about him. Perhaps he was cruel and brutal like everyone else in the castle. Perhaps he deserved living here under The Devil’s thumb. It is too early to make any judgements, she tells herself. Her empathy could be better spent elsewhere at the moment. 

Absently, she rubs at the skin on her wrist beside the manacle. “Could you remove this shackle for a moment? It is starting to hurt my wrist.”

Cyrus turns around to eye her with suspicion. “Master Rahadin told me not to take them off.”

_Of course he did._ “But they are quite painful! It is not as if I could flee with you watching me.” She pauses, thinking. “I'm sure nothing gets past you, Cyrus.”

The creature chuckles. “ ‘Tis true. Nothing gets past my watchful eye.” He puffs his chest up. “But Master Rahadin told me not to take them off.”

_Master Rahadin._ She was getting sick and tired of the name. If only he could use his own judgement and autonomy for once…

An idea comes to her. It's a ridiculous plan, one that she is not sure if it would even work, but it is worth a shot. She is desperate enough to try anything at this point. 

Ireena begins to idly twirl her hair around a finger. “I was too embarrassed to admit this before a man, but... I really must tend to some _lady_ things and I cannot do so with only one hand.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “What sorts of lady things?”

Ireena glances away for a moment. “Oh, I do not know if it is proper to discuss around a man…” Her voice drops to a whisper and her gaze suddenly meets his. _“Menstruation.”_

“Oh!” His eyes practically bulge out of his skull at the mere mention of the word. “My goodness!”

“I must tend to my feminine hygiene. Surely my dear husband-to-be would not want me wallowing in my own filth.”

“Oh! N-No surely not! My goodness!”

“And surely you can unshackle me from the bed and escort me to the washroom so that I may clean myself properly?”

A fierce blush colors the hairless portions of Cyrus’ face. “B-But Master Rahadin—”

“I will crack the door and you may hold the other end of the chain from outside the washroom.” For added effect, Ireena wraps her hands around the area just below her belly. “Ugh, I believe it has started already!” A desperate look fills her eyes. “Cyrus, you must take me to the washroom! Quickly!”

“Oh! I, um—yes! Right away! My goodness!” The creature retrieves a heavy-looking keyring from his belt and frantically sorts through it. He selects a golden key and hobbles over to the shackle attached to the bed leg, unlocking it. 

Ireena lets out a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding.

Cyrus grabs the end of the chain and begins to leave the room. “Follow me, please! Come along now! Do not dilly or dally!”

The corner of Ireena’s lips curl up into a smile. A small victory. She picks up the slack of the chain so as to not let it drag.

As Cyrus turns his back to her, a sudden rage begins to boil in her gut. She shouldn't have to make excuses and make a fool of herself just to leave her damn quarters! What sort of existence was this? If The Devil was wanting her to feel at home in his castle and not like a prisoner, he was doing a poor job of it. She should be able to bathe herself without asking for permission!

Her knuckles turn white as her grip on the chains tightens. She was tired of this. So, _so_ tired. 

With a roar, Ireena charges at Cyrus’ turned back and jumps up enough to slide the chains around his body. They hook around his thick neck and Ireena tightens the slack enough to where she is practically pressed to the creature’s back. With all of her might, she pulls back _hard._

Cyrus lets out a surprised gasp followed by choking noises as his windpipe is crushed by the steel. Clawed hands scrabble at the chain, but Ireena is determined and only pulls back harder. 

With a sudden adrenaline-fueled burst of energy, he throws himself backwards into the nearest wall. Ireena’s back hits the wall hard with what looked to be at least 300 pound slamming into her. It is almost enough to take the wind out of her lungs. It would not have surprised her if several of her bones had fractured upon the impact. He slams her into the wall again and again, and each time Ireena’s head slams into the wall hard enough to make pinpoints of light flash before her eyes. Her whole body is sore, screams for her to let go and end the assault. Yet she persists. She has no idea how, but she holds on as if her life depends on it—her life _does_ depend on it.

She lets out another roar and pulls harder.

Seconds—minutes, hours, she cannot tell—pass, and finally, _finally_ the creature’s slumped form falls to the ground. Motionless. His eyes bulge and there is almost a maroon coloration to his face. It is a pitiful sight. It was a pitiful _act_ , one that she wished she had not had to resort to. Yet a deep pride swells in her chest.

She had done this. _She,_ Ireena Kolyana—not her father, not Ismark, not some well-intentioned adventurer—had done this. She had taken her destiny into her own hands and had managed to take down one of Strahd's creatures all by herself.

Ireena laughs for what feels like the first time in years but immediately regrets it as a fresh wave of pain radiates from her chest. She coughs and spits out a mouthful of blood. 

_Great. Not again._

Oh-so-gingerly, she bends over to retrieve the keyring from Cyrus’ belt. Finally, she finds the key to her manacles and undoes them. Her skin is red and angry when she takes them off, but she feels so much lighter without their oppressive weight.

There is the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs and Ireena cannot help but groan in frustration. If it wasn't one thing… Frantically and with much disgust, she hides the keyring in her trousers.

“My lady? Are you okay? I heard a loud crashing sound…” It is Rahadin—of course it is Rahadin—and his eyes go wide upon noticing Cyrus’ body heaped upon the floor. 

“Dear gods!” he shouts, probably far louder than he had intended. “Cyrus!” He rushes over to the creature and kneels before him, pressing two fingers to his thick neck. Upon feeling no pulse, he stands back up. There is a grim look on his face as his dark eyes fall upon her.

“Ireena, did you do this?”

She swallows heavily. Her eyes dart to the chains at her feet. “Yes. Stay back.”

Rahadin scoffs and toes at Cyrus’ form with his boot. ”Yes, well… No matter. I shall find a replacement. Gods know how many other mongrelfolk are out there prowling about.” 

He sighs, and suddenly his expression brightens—almost comically. He holds his hands up in a mock show of surrender, a forced smile on his face that makes Ireena’s skin crawl. “I will let this little transgression pass over, let bygones be bygones and such…”

There is a small basket looped over his arm. At receiving no response, he places a hand on the basket. “My master wished for me to convey his sincerest apologies in being unable to visit you today. His attention is needed elsewhere at the moment. However, he has asked that I bring you these gifts in his stead—wine and lemon cakes. Perhaps we could share a bottle and engage in conversation?”

Ireena gives him a feral-looking grin. ”I am in no mood to talk to you, you vile creature. Get out of my sight.”

“I am saddened to hear that, as I quite enjoy your company. Come, let us talk in your quarters. There is a strong draft in this lounge and I do not want you to catch a chill.” 

“No.” 

Rahadin sighs through his nose and sets his jaw. “Come, now. Make this easier on both me and yourself.”

He is blatantly not taking no for an answer, Ireena notes with a frown. No part of her wants anything to do with the elf. “No.” Her eyes still glued to the dusk elf, she bends over and quickly snatches up the length of chain at her feet. She holds it tight in both hands.

“Impetuous child… I will spare you the effort and inform you that strangulation will not work on me; I have innate means of escaping such conflicts. I mean you no harm, Ireena. I wish only to speak with you.” He pauses for a moment, thinking. “Honor me with conversation, and I will see that these manacles remain off of your wrists for the duration of your stay here.”

Ireena thinks for a moment. Despite her hesitance to even negotiate with the monster, it is a reasonable offer. If she could not kill Rahadin here and now in light of his recent revelation, then it would be nice to actually get a full night’s rest without the manacles biting into her wrist. Sure, she could always unlock them again with the keyring, but this would afford her less suspicion should she be caught sneaking around the castle…

“Fine,” Ireena responds curtly.

“Excellent. Let us go to your quarters, then.” Not wasting any time, Rahadin begins briskly walking towards her room.

Ireena struggles to keep pace. She trudges along with a limp as even walking causes her significant pain. If Rahadin notices, however, he does not say anything. Eventually, Ireena makes it to her room to find that Rahadin has already pulled up a chair at her small table and is in the process of pulling items out of the basket.

“Please close the door behind you. Cyrus’ corpse is quite unnerving to look at, wouldn't you agree?”

With a quirk of her eyebrow, she obliges. Ireena sits on the edge of her bed—as far away from the dusk elf as possible.

“How are you?” he asks. 

“Fine.”

“I am glad to hear it.” He begins to arrange the lemon cakes on the cloth. “I see you have managed to get out of your manacles,” he noted idly.

“Mhm.”

“Seeing as how Cyrus is—was—stacked like a brick house, that is quite an impressive feat.” He tilts his head slightly and looks to her. “Tell me: how did you manage to do it?”

“Through hard work and determination.”

“Mm.” Ireena doesn't miss the brief look of annoyance that flashes across his face. There is more silence between them.

“Can I pour you a glass of wine, my lady?”

“No.”

Rahadin is growing more and more frustrated by the minute, she notes. It gives her a smug sense of satisfaction.

He tries again. “Have you had a chance to read the book I gave you?”

“No.”

He looks visibly disappointed at that. “I see. I hope you at least give it a try. If you have to read any section, the word play in the fourth chapter is especially good, in my opinion. The chapter focuses on Volskaya’s experiences as a soldier during The Great Dwarven Conflict. Do you enjoy war stories, Ireena?”

Ireena does not answer in the hopes that the dusk elf will get the hint and leave. It has worked for her in the past; usually The Devil leaves her be if she ignores him for long enough. 

Rahadin sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “The interesting thing about conversation is that it is usually two-sided.”

“Why are you so desperate to talk to me?” Ireena snaps. She does not bother to hide the rising frustration in her voice. 

Previously, Rahadin had been very withdrawn, if not reclusive. It had been a long time before he had even been comfortable saying more than two sentences to her at a time. Certainly he would have never interacted with her had The Devil not requested he tend to her.

“As I said previously, I enjoy your company.”

“And that is why you sent your lackey to tend to me in your stead?”

“There is much you do not understand about the dynamics at play, child.”

Suddenly, there is what sounds like a clamoring in the distance. Ireena swears she can hear what sounds like frantic voices and the clang of steel clashing against steel.

“What is that noise?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.

Rahadin exhales out of his nose once more. “Occasionally, the unwashed masses like to trudge up to the castle and demand an audience with my master.” He flicks a hand dismissively. “Usually, they are here to complain about a recent tax or to whine about their goat going missing. Sometimes the peasants get rowdy when my master does not concede to their wishes. You are probably hearing their rabble-rousing.”

Ireena is not convinced. “It sounds quite close.”

“Do not fret, my lady. I shall keep you safe should things become… especially unsavory.” There is an earnest look in Rahadin's dark eyes as he speaks that makes Ireena uncomfortable. 

“I can take care of myself, thank you. If Strahd is holding an audience, why does it sound as if the noise is coming from this floor?”

Another dismissive wave of his hand. “Old structures like this tend to echo terribly. Did my master ever tell you about Castle Ravenloft’s creation, Ireena? It is quite an interesting story. You see, many centuries ago when Strahd first arrived in the valley, he—"

There is a blood-curdling screech just outside of the door—a woman’s voice. Something about the timbre of her voice sounds unnatural. Ireena does not miss the way Rahadin’s eyes twitch almost imperceptibly. 

_“Master, please! Help me! It burns! Godsss—!”_

There is the sound of what sounds like claws raking across the wooden door. Then… silence.

Rahadin’s posture is stiff. As if without thinking, he stands up and reaches for the scimitar at his hip. His eyes are focused on the door all the while.

“Ireena, please wait here for a moment.”

“What is happening—”

He whips around and there is a fierce fire in his eyes the likes of which she has never seen before. “Ireena. I need you to listen to me.” His voice is slow, meticulous. Ireena can tell that he is trying to appear calm, but the way he grits his teeth when speaking gives him away. ”You are to stay in your quarters until I retrieve you. Am I understood?”

“I don't—”

_“AM I UNDERSTOOD?!”_ Rahadin bellows, and Ireena cannot help but flinch.

Her voice comes out barely louder than a whisper. “Yes.” 

Yet his back is already turned to her and he stalks towards the door. He draws his scimitar from its sheath and Ireena has to clamp her hands over her ears to block out the sudden shrieking that fills the room. “I shall return in but a moment.” With that, his body suddenly coalesces into a cloud of mist.

He is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Rahadin for giving me an excuse to write the phrase rabble-rousing


	9. Chapter 9

After Rahadin leaves the room, there is a long stretch of silence. Ireena no longer hears what sounds like the clash of steep upon steel. She tiptoes over to the door and presses her ear to the wood. Muted noises can be heard outside: people talking amongst themselves, the sound of things being rifled through.

Suddenly, another pained shriek rips through the air. It is different from the scream before, and it almost sounds like…

“Minerva?” Ireena calls out. Surely it cannot be her! She had seen her body go limp after being hit with the brunt of a fireball on the day she had reluctantly agreed to come to the castle. But if, by some miracle, she was here, then that would mean…

“The rat bastard stabbed me!”

It is unmistakably Minerva’s voice. A feeling of hope—joy, relief, worry, a cacophony of emotions all at once—swells in her chest, and it takes everything she has not to burst into tears. They had come for her! Her friends had not forgotten about her!

Feeling lightheaded—she is suddenly struggling to suck enough air into her lungs—she pulls at the door. It does not budge. She pulls at it harder this time to no avail. She goes to put her foot to the frame to put more force into it but immediately regrets the decision as a wave of fresh pain washes over her.  _ A mistake. _

She had been locked in the room, Ireena notes with a frown. It was all too apparent how much the denizens of the castle trusted her. With a frustrated groan, she retrieves the keyring that she had pulled from Cyrus’ body. There are at least 25 keys on it of varying shapes and sizes. Gods, she hopes that at least one of the keys goes to her door…

She tries one. It does not turn. Another. Another. They do not turn. Despite the chill in the castle, sweat is beginning to bead up along her forehead. Another key. No luck. Her fingers tremble against the smooth brass of the keys. Finally, on what must have been her twentieth try, a key turns in the lock. Ireena gives a silent cheer and goes to open the door.

The door opens about three inches before it meets resistance. Peeking through the gap, she can see a pallid arm outstretched on the floor behind the door, its clawed fingers frozen in perpetual agony. If she had to guess, this creature had been the source of the pleading and scratching at her door, yet it looked very much dead now.

Steeling herself for the pain that would no doubt follow, Ireena puts her shoulder to the door and pushes. With much heaving, it slowly opens wider until she can slip her whole body through.

The first thing she notices is just how much of a disarray the small lounge is in. There are books scattered all along the floor. Several wooden tables have been turned over and one of them has splintered into four pieces.

The next thing she notices is the fight taking place at the far end of the room. The sound of steel clanging against steel fills berates her ears. Ireena sees several people amidst the fray, but most importantly, she makes out the unmistakable broad-shouldered form of her brother.

Her heart leaps up into her throat. “Ismark!”

“Ireena?” Their gaze meets when Ismark whips around, and Ireena can see the instant look of relief that washes over his face. He looks as if he has not slept in weeks. In his distractedness, a scimitar almost embeds itself into a chink in his armor, but Ismark is able to sidestep at the last minute. “Ireena! Stay back!”

There are five of them in total: Ismark, Minerva, Anna, a woman Ireena does not recognize, and Rahadin.

Rahadin does not look any better. Despite having looked neat and orderly not moments ago, his face and dark hair are splattered with blood; whether it is his own or someone else, Ireena cannot say. A steady trickle of blood oozes from the corner of his mouth. Undeterred by the number of adventurers, the dusk elf is still holding his own. He effortlessly dodges the swings of swords and weaves between the adventurers as if practicing some sort of macabre dance. Three consecutive slashes at Ismark, three parries. Rahadin narrowly dodges an arrow that embeds itself into the wall a few feet away from Ireena. 

“Enough!” The dusk elf snarls and raises his scimitar, his gray eyes wild. The sound of hundreds of unearthly shrieks fills the room, reverberates through her mind, and she is forced to clasp her hands over her ears once more. Those closest to Rahadin drop to their knees. Their weapons clatter to the ground as they, too, attempt to cover their ears, Ireena can barely make out their pained grunts over the screams.

“Ireena, if you do not go back to your quarters this instant there shall be  _ severe  _ consequences!” Rahadin roars over the discord, apparently unbothered by the screams. He does not turn around to address her, but keeps his eyes focused on the party. His chest is heaving, and Ireena notices several bleeding gashes across his body. The wounds do not seem to slow him, however, as he raises his scimitar as if to deliver another flurry of blows. His gaze settles on Ismark.

She watches in horror as he is moments away from slashing at Ismark’s throat. Unsure of what to do but certain that she needs to do  _ something _ , Ireena charges forward. It is a shortsighted decision, she realizes, but her body propels itself forward before her brain has time to think on the consequences. With both hands she grapples Rahadin’s left arm and attempts to wrangle the scimitar from him. He lets out a noise of surprise. Ireena’s head is pounding from the incessant screams that continue to fill the room, yet she does not falter, even when Rahadin roughly pushes at her with his free hand and hisses for her to let go. Ireena lets out her own shriek that rivals the seemingly thousands of other screams. The screams fill her head, making it feel like her own skull is going to explode.

Despite his thin frame, the elf is surprisingly strong. Rahadin purposefully lets go of the scimitar and Ireena is sent sprawling to the floor.

The screams stop. Yet from the corner of her eye, Ireena sees Rahadin reach for a dagger at his waist and raise it high.

Before he can slash at Ismark’s exposed throat, however, an arrow flies through the air and pierces the dusk elf’s left shoulder. He lets out a cry and the dagger clatters to the floor.

With scimitar in hand, Ireena pushes herself up and rushes forward once more. She swings. Rahadin manages to dodge her first swing and then her second. but he is panting heavily and is beginning to slow down. “Ireena, stop this madness at once! I do not want to harm you!” He punches at her gut with his right fist. Ireena dodges the blow and takes advantage of the opening to jab at him once more. With a roar, Ireena plunges the scimitar through Rahadin’s abdomen.

The room goes still. Rahadin’s eyes have gone wide, and he looks from her to the blade lodged in his stomach. His lips move as if mouthing something. Suddenly, the space before Ireena is empty, the blood-covered scimitar piercing nothing but the air. Rahadin reappears on his hands and knees five feet beside her in a shroud of silvery mist. He coughs, a painful and harsh sounding noise, and blood spatters onto the ground before him. 

Rahadin turns his head slightly to look in Ireena’s general direction. “How interesting that I would live over five centuries... only to die at the hand of my master’s betrothed. Certainly more poetic... than dying on some fetid battlefield, wouldn’t you agree?” He coughs once more.

Something stirs inside Ireena. Certainly she should hurry up and behead the vile creature, put him out of his misery before he has a chance to escape. Yet the idea of beheading someone, of feeling a blade cleave through vertebrae and sinew, makes her stomach churn. And yet perhaps it would be too merciful of a death for him. Had he shown the same mercy to the families of dusk elves he had slain in cold blood? Ireena did not think him capable of understanding such concepts as mercy. Verily, one could not just stand by and watch as their  _ master  _ kidnapped and brutalized innocent women if they had even a shred of compassion in their hearts. At the same time, however, shouldn’t she be better than him? Than  _ them?  _

Before Ireena can reconsider raising the scimitar to bring it down on Rahadin’s neck, an arrow whizzes past and embeds itself into his skull with a sickening crack. Like that, his body slumps to the ground, lifeless. 

Ireena lets out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. Her ribs are pulsing with pain from the effort. Beside her, she can hear the groans of her friends as they begin to stir once more. Her eyes land on Ismark, whose fingers are pressed at his temples as he rises to his feet.

“Ismark!” Ireena drops the scimitar and practically flings herself at her brother, pulling him into a hug before he can fully gain his bearings. He eagerly returns the hug. “Are you alright?”

Ismark pulls away enough to gently cup her face. Their gaze meets, and Ireena doesn’t miss the misty-eyed look on her brother. “Yes, yes I am fine. Ireena, my sweet sister… Gods, I cannot believe you are alive! I had hoped—I never gave up hope—but seeing you here in the flesh…!” There are dark bags beneath his eyes, and his silver-streaked hair looks as if it has not been combed in days. 

“Your face…” Ireena’s fingers ghost along his rufescent cheek. The flesh is scarred and mottled with burns. His eyebrow is missing. Fresh tears well up in her eyes once more. 

Upon seeing her tears, Ismark diverts his gaze and turns his head until Ireena can only see the unburnt side of his face. “It doesn't hurt anymore,” he mumbles, as if reading her thoughts. He takes her hand in his and presses it to his other cheek. 

Ireena can feel her bottom lip start to quiver. “I’d thought you had died. Back at the Amber Temple…”

Ismark’s eyes go wide. “How did you…?” 

“T-The Devil showed me — when you were hit by that ball of fire…”

Ismark’s voice rises. “That snake! He only wishes I were dead, what with what I'm going to do to him!” He sighs and shakes his head. ”No. It doesn't matter now. I'm here, flesh and blood, and nothing else is going to stand in our way.” He ruffles her hair and smiles, yet Ireena can see the thinly veiled doubt behind his eyes. “No more tears. You are safe now.”

Ireena sniffs and nods her head.  _ She is safe.  _ She is with Ismark now and he's alive and they would kill The Devil and everything was going to be okay. 

He pulls her into another suffocating hug and she grunts in pain 

Ismark places his hands on her shoulders and pulls away. His eyes trail over her as if inspecting her. “Did he hurt you? The Devil?”

The question catches her off guard. “He has… struck me, yes. My ribs hurt, but I won't let it slow us down. Gods, I'm so ready to be rid of this place!”

Anger flashes across Ismark's face. “How dare he lay a hand on you!”

“Did he bite you?” A new voice with a heavy accent speaks up. A woman with thick curly hair beneath a red head scarf steps forward. She wipes the blood on a handax off onto her red coat and sheathes it.

Absentmindedly, Ireena rubs at the old puncture wounds along her neck. While they had healed unfathomably fast, the skin was now raised and scarred. “No. The Devil has… come close, but has stopped himself.” Visions of him lunging at her in the chapel gardens and the sight of ivory fangs flash through her mind.

“Why? Doesn't he—”

Ismark interrupts. “Ireena, this is Ezmerelda. It was foretold that she would aid us in our fight against The Devil.” He leans closer and lowers his voice. “She is… unconventional, to say the least.”

Ezmerelda wipes the blood off of her palms onto her pants and sticks a hand out in greeting. “Ezmerelda D’avenir. A pleasure.” Upon Ireena shaking her hand, she smiles. “It's nice to finally be able to put a face to the name I've been hearing so much about. Many people have made many sacrifices for this little reunion to take place—your brother especially.”

Her heart sinks, and Ireena does not miss the glare that Ismark shoots Ezmerelda. He grits his teeth.  _ “And I would do it again.” _

From the corner of her eye, Ireena can see that a young woman is beaming up at her. Waiting for her to turn around and notice her. Her heart still aches from the Vistani woman’s words, but she is thrilled to see Minerva’s face light up when she finally turns to address her. She holds her arms out, and Minerva limps forward. 

“My friend! I'm so glad to see that you are doing well! The last time I saw you, you were slumped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.” Ireena fails to mention how she had thought she was dead after The Devil had cast a ball of fire at them all those moons ago. How she had questioned her own sanity when she'd heard Minerva's voice on the other side of the door.

“Yeaaah… I, um, wasn't doing too well after that. It's a long story, but I'm back and I'm doing better now! Or at least I was until this freak stabbed me,” Minerva grimaces and nods her head towards the body of Rahadin slumped over on the floor.

It is then that Ireena notices the droplets of blood behind her. Minerva has a hand clasped over a wound through her back

“You’re bleeding!” she cries.

“Yeaaah… I’ve dealt with worse, though. The freak missed my kidneys, at least.”

Anna, the party’s ranger, steps forward. She hovers her hands just about Minerva’s wound Minerva grimaces as a ray of blue light washes over her. Ireena recognizes it as some sort of healing magic. Anna smiles up at her.

“Hello, Ireena. It’s good to see you again.”

“And you as well! I am very happy to see you all. It feels like it has been years since I’ve seen anyone from outside this castle.”

“It’s been approximately a moon.”

Ireena is shocked by the revelation. “Only a moon?” Despite time feeling like it crawled inside the walls of Ravenloft, the time she had spent there had worn her down. At times, she felt like an old crone. So much had happened since she was whisked away…

Ireena’s eyes scan the room. Before this incident, there had been three outsiders in their adventuring party. But now, only Minerva and Anna are in the room. “Where is Baldric?” Ireena asks. The paladin had been one of the most kind-hearted individuals she had met in a long time. He had been the one to charge headlong at The Devil with her when he’d had Ismark in a chokehold.

A sullen look falls over the faces of Anna and Minerva. Minerva turns her gaze to the floor. Their expressions alone are enough to answer Ireena’s question; he hadn’t made it through the hellscape that was Barovia. Her heart sinks at the realization. None of this would have happened if Strahd had just minded his damn business and let her be!

_ Strahd. _

“Where is Strahd?” Ireena asks. Panic begins to rise in her gut. It had been far too quiet. Surely he must know of their presence; they were in his territory, after all! He seemed to know of everything that went on in Barovia.

Ismark places a hand on her shoulder. “If the Vistani fortune teller at Tser Pool is to be believed, we will find him in the crypts.”

The crypts. The lower levels of Castle Ravenloft hadn’t been included in the little tour that The Devil had given her of his abode, yet she had heard mention of the crypts. The Devil’s spawn often spoke of them in fear. Rahadin had threatened to lock the spawn in them on more than one occasion. Both Strahd’s wife and Escher had spoken of other women The Devil had locked up in them when he had grown bored of them. Certainly, nothing good was to be found in the crypts of the castle. 

Ireena swallows heavily. “We should leave. I-I don’t want to be imprisoned again… I want to go home!”

Ismark’s grip on her shoulder tightens. “I know, Ireena. I know. And we will. But first, we must kill this monster. I will not stand by and watch as he torments you—the people of this land—any longer. I am tired of running from him. I understand if you would rather wait here while we kill this creature—”

“No. I am going with you.” Being left behind was not an option. “I-I can help!” 

Ismark frowns. “I am not in favor of you being put in harm’s way, but I trust your judgement.” He sighs, and Ismark draws what appears to be the platinum hilt of a longsword from his hip. As if by magic, a beam of pure light emanates out and takes the form of a blade. The blade fills the room with almost a blinding glow, and Ireena finds that she needs to squint to focus on the face of her brother.

“What is this?” Ireena asks, gesturing to the sword of light in Ismark’s hand.

“This is the Sun Sword. It is a blade of pure sunlight. It was foretold that it would aid us in the fight against The Devil. The undead reel at the sight of it, including  _ him. _ ” Ismark extinguishes the blade and flips it around in his hand. He holds it out to Ireena.

“I was told it belonged to the Devil’s brother many centuries ago.” A look of discomfort crosses over Ismark’s face as he speaks. “I, um, feel it should belong to you.”

Hesitantly, Ireena takes the hilt from Ismark's hands. A wave of warmth washes over her, and it almost feels as if it vibrates in her hand. She turns the hilt over, inspecting it. It is a beautiful weapon; the platinum hilt looks as polished as the day it was made. “I am… Honored that you would offer such a blade to me. But my heart no longer calls to Sergei. Even though The Devil may say otherwise, I am Ireena Kolyana, not this… Tatyana.” She holds the hilt back out to Ismark, who gently pushes her hand away. 

“Indeed you are. You are the brave daughter of Kolyan Indirovich, and you are my sister. Nothing will ever change that.” He gives a small smile. “I can see much of Father in you. You both smile in the face of adversity… And you are both very stubborn. He would be so proud to see the woman you have become.”

Ireena gives a genuine smile at that. Another wave of emotion—pride, sentimentality, yearning—rises up within her; she does her best to push it back down. It was the greatest honor to be compared to her father, and it means all the more hearing it from Ismark’s mouth. She looks up at Ismark, earnest, just trying to think of something to say. Trying to find the right words to convey how touched she feels. No words come, however, and she chooses to lightly punch his shoulder in bashfulness instead. 

“But what about you? What will you wield if I were to take this?”

Ismark pats the sheathed longsword at his hip. “I still have Father’s sword. I feel more comfortable with it than I do that sword, honestly. And I think nothing would please our father more than having his blade be the one to separate The Devil’s head from his shoulders.”

Ireena nods and turns her attention back to the hilt in her hands. “Where is the blade for the Sun Sword?”

“It is… difficult to explain. It must be lit. You have to feel the presence of the sword within you, as if it has sentience of its own. Listen to your body, feel the emotions that wash over you. Once you have done this and it feels as if you and the sword are one, imagine a beam of radiance shooting out from the hilt.” Ismark scratches at the nape of his neck. “It took me some time to get used to it, myself.” 

_ A blade of sunlight.  _ Throughout her years, Ireena cannot recall having ever seen the sun. It had been obscured by the thick clouds and fog of Barovia for as long as she could remember. Some of the elders in Barovia Village told stories—stories that had been passed down to them by their forefathers—of a large fire in the sky that touched all of the lands with its warmth. Unlike the moon, she had heard that it could blind those who looked upon it. 

The idea of thinking of the blade being sentient feels silly to her. Yet if Ismark said that it worked, who was she to question him? Bracing herself, she exhales deeply and closes her eyes. It feels as if the blade has begun to vibrate more intensely. Ireena centers herself, focusing her mind’s eye on the hilt, the feeling of it in her hands. Something tugs at the back of her mind. She focuses on that. It is an emotion—a feeling of longing. Of vengeance. Ireena is certain that it is not her own mind conjuring these emotions. The warmness in her fingertips spreads up into her hands and all throughout her arms, until it settles into her torso and stokes her core like a fire. Ireena visualizes a beacon of light, warm and orange like that of a hearth, extending out of the hilt.

Her hands jerk violently and Ireena’s eyes shoot open as a white beam of pure radiance shoots out from the hilt. The beam is at least three feet long, yet the sword does not feel any heavier. It hums gently, wavering ever so slightly as she takes it in one hand. A slight warmth touches her face, and she must squint to even look at it. 

She hears Minerva  _ ooh  _ somewhere behind her.

Ismark beams. “I’m impressed! It took me a little over a day to figure that out on my own.” 

“What you hold there is the key to defeating The Devil and his minions. The undead hate the sun,” Ezmerelda notes coolly. 

Ireena turns her gaze to Ezmerelda. “How do you know that?”

“My old mentor told me that. He was born outside of Barovia. I’ve also already seen the way Strahd’s spawn recoil at the sight of the blade”

“I see.”

Ireena takes a tentative swing with the sword. She’d missed the feeling of a blade in her hand. It was nice having something to defend herself with once more. 

A voice booms throughout the castle. Ireena flinches as she recognizes the silken tones of the voice:  _ The Devil.  _

_ “NOT ONLY HAVE YOU BROKEN INTO MY HOME, BUT YOU HAVE MURDERED MY CHAMBERLAIN AND ARE NOW ATTEMPTING TO STEAL MY BRIDE. I HAD THOUGHT BETTER OF YOU. I CAN SEE THAT YOU ARE NO BETTER THAN THE HUNDREDS OF OTHER OUTSIDERS WHOM I HAD SO GRACIOUSLY INVITED INTO MY LAND. OUTSIDERS WHO NOW FILL MY LARDERS, WHOSE BONES BEDECK MY DUNGEONS.” _

The vice resonates all around her; she is unable to pinpoint a source. It was so loud! Ezmerelda places a comforting hand on Ireena’s shoulder. “This is magic. Do not fret. He is not among us at the moment.” It does little to calm her nerves. 

_ “RETURN MY BRIDE AND LEAVE THIS PLACE, AND YOU MAY STILL MAKE IT OUT ALIVE. IF NOT, WELL… I WILL BE AWAITING YOUR ARRIVAL.”  _

_ “Fuck you!”  _ Minerva calls out towards the voice. There is no response, and the young woman almost looks disappointed.

“I second that sentiment…” Ismark mutters under his breath. His gaze sweeps over the group before him. “Shall we press on, friends? To finally put an end to this bastard’s sad story?”

Ireena smiles. The heft of the Sun Sword in her hand is comforting. For the first time in a moon, Ireena feels like she has the upper hand. She feels powerful. The Devil would pay for the torment she had endured at his hand. She, Ismark, her friends, Ezmerelda… They would free this valley from his sadistic reign or die trying.

“I would love nothing more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the last of 'em! Thank you so much for bearing with me and for reading this to the end! <3


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's spoilers for the end of Curse of Strahd in this epilogue. If you haven't finished the campaign yet -- beware!

> _735 Barovian Calendar, Barovia_
> 
> My dearest Gertruda,
> 
> I hope this letter finds you and your mother well.
> 
> I am leaving Barovia, but I do not dare disclose where in the event that this letter ends up in the wrong hands. A few friends originally from outside of the fog have agreed to take me with them to their homelands. I am excited to see what lies beyond our borders. Like you, Barovia is all I have ever known. I never even knew the touch of the sun until yesterday. Some would say I have lived a relatively sheltered life, especially when compared to the experiences of my current company. Bodies of salty water that stretch on and on for miles. Flowers that grow to be taller than a man. Enchanted palaces made of pure gold, even! So many things that those from beyond the fog may take for granted… Yet I am looking forward to experiencing these new sights and sounds for myself! The world is filled with adventure!
> 
> While I am excited to leave Barovia, I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous as well. My brother has chosen to stay behind, saying that he cannot leave his people without a leader. He said that he must help Barovia Village rebuild, to start anew. He reminds me of my late father in so many ways — determined, yet stubborn to a fault! While I will miss everyone in Barovia Village, I do not think anyone who knew my story could blame me for wanting to get as far away from this cursed land as possible.
> 
> I know how you love your stories, my dear Gertruda, and I felt you should know how our intertwining plotlines had ended. That is why I am writing to you today: I wish to tell you of the death of The Devil so that you may find some solace—just as I have. Please forgive me if your heart is still pained and this tale brings back unpleasant memories for you. I do not wish to cause you discomfort, but if anyone else deserves to know the truth it is you, Gertruda.
> 
> During your stay in the castle, did you ever see the catacombs? If not, it is for the better; it was a horrid place. The whole place was incredibly dark. Webs with spiders as big as your hand seemingly filled every nook and cranny, and the place reeked of bat guano. What had to have been at least 50 tombs filled the sprawling and dank catacombs, each with an inscription telling the story of its occupant. Had circumstances been different, I would have liked to stop and read each one and learn more of the history of Barovia. 
> 
> Yet we were on a quest: to put an end to The Devil.
> 
> Just as a Vistani fortune-teller had predicted, we found him in the catacombs. We found him weeping—and I do not use the word lightly—upon the casket of his late mother, apologizing for something that I could not make out. It was almost a pitiful sight; so rarely had I ever seen The Devil express any emotion outside of anger. He wept not unlike a child longing for his mother, his face buried in the crook of his arm.
> 
> To this day, I cannot help but wonder what had caused a man—no, _creature—_ as heartless as him to sob. I believed at first that he was regretful of all of the pain he had inflicted unto the people of Barovia. Perhaps he knew how disappointed his mother would have been in him had she still been alive. Yet I truly do not think him capable of such human emotions as shame or remorse, and he certainly cared little about his people.
> 
> When we approached, he raised his head and looked me in the eyes. His eyes were not red and puffy as is typical with sorrow. There was only a look of coldness. Of understanding. Only one group would leave that room alive _._
> 
> Words were briefly exchanged. The Devil said something about being disappointed in my behavior, about how I was being “brainwashed” by my friends into hating him, how only he could keep me safe, etcetera, etcetera. Hollow words, to be certain. I had heard them a hundred times before. Having had enough of his lies and feeling a sudden burst of courage, I rushed forward, blade in hand.
> 
> Despite not having experience on my side, I did have two advantages. The Devil and his minions would not harm me, and I wielded a blade of pure sunlight.
> 
> Did you know that the undead hate sunlight, Gertruda? It is hard to observe in Barovia due to the skies always being overcast, but it is true! The Devil was no different. The blade I wielded was magic and had once belonged to The Devil’s brother, I had been told. It emitted a beam of pure sunlight, as the name implied. You should have seen the look on The Devil’s face when I ignited the sword! It was too funny! I hadn't thought that his face was capable of growing any more pale, yet I was wrong!
> 
> There was something especially gratifying about the way The Devil recoiled and hissed when the aura of sunlight from the sword washed over him. The closer I got to him, the more the flesh and fat in his face seemed to melt away until he looked more starved monster than man. His flesh sizzled and bubbled—quite the abhorrent sight. With all of my strength, I swung at him. Yet he jumped far out of my reach, far into the shadows of the catacombs and away from the sunlight.
> 
> The rest of my friends rushed forward at that in an attempt to corner him. Yet before they were in swinging distance, he scurried up the wall like a spider and went right over our heads! The Devil had powerful magics at his disposal. I have seen him cast balls of fire from his hands, see locations hundreds of miles away, turn into fog. I will not even pretend to understand how he did it as it is far above my comprehension, but it made him a frightening foe. He darted throughout the catacombs with unnatural speeds. There were times in which I even saw him walk through solid walls, Gertruda! Even though it seemed as if the odds were not in our favor—what could we do to an undead creature that could walk through walls and use magic?—I trusted my friends and my brother.
> 
> I would be lying if I said I was not deathly afraid in that moment, Gertruda. I had seen the power and fury of The Devil first-hand. Yet I had never seen him so untethered, so feral. He held nothing back this time, perhaps fearful of the strength we had gained during our time in Barovia.
> 
> I say _we,_ but it was more like _them._ I had, unfortunately, been locked up like a bird in a cage for many moons. While they gained new artifacts and learned new magics, my sword arm had weakened from lack of use. I had been hurt previously and was not in my prime. Yet I was not going to let any of that stand in our way! This was our moment, after all! _This was the culmination of all of our hardships at long last._
> 
> We managed to land several hits on The Devil, yet nothing seemed to stagger him, not even magic of our own. At one point, Ismark’s blade pierced clear through his chest, yet he did not bleed. He did not falter. With a malicious grin on his face, he actually walked _further_ onto the blade to punch Ismark right in the face! I can still hear the sickening pop it made as my brother’s jaw was dislocated.
> 
> It seemed as if we initially had the advantage of our numbers on our side, yet The Devil was not alone. As the fight raged on and the room was filled with the sounds of steel and the arcane, his minions began rushing into the room: spawn, bats, wolves. At one point, it even appeared as if our own shadows were fighting us! It became difficult to distinguish friend from foe in the chaos, and it became even more difficult to spot The Devil as he darted in and out of the walls like some sort of spectral entity!
> 
> As his minions were not focused on me, I was free to pursue him. My eyes had difficulty adjusting to the all-consuming darkness of the catacombs, but the Sun Sword provided some light for me during our game of cat and mouse. More often than not, I was able to locate The Devil by sound when the sword's sunlight fell upon him. I could land a few blows before he would scuttle off once more.
> 
> The fight seemed to last for what felt like hours. The Devil would use magic and hide in one of the tombs. We would chase him. A new wave of his minions would be defeated. The Devil would reappear behind us to attack. We would return the assault. 
> 
> I cannot help but wonder if a part of The Devil was afraid of us at that moment. Never before had I seen him so on guard before. For once, he was fighting on the defensive. He had every right to be afraid; we had weapons that, for once in his centuries of life, he was vulnerable to. We had sunlight—real, actual sunlight. And I am sure that it did not help matters that his so-called _pet_ (me) was trying to end him once and for all!
> 
> To many, it would have seemed as if The Devil were a coward—lurking in the shadows to wait for an attack of opportunity while his legions of minions did the brunt of the work. Yet I knew The Devil. Despite his many flaws, he was a brilliant tactician. He preferred the long fight and was not afraid to use his assets to his advantage. He was no longer the cock-sure count that had no qualms with fighting an entire adventuring party single-handedly outside of Vallaki; he was Strahd the conqueror once more. Strahd the soldier.
> 
> Just as I am sure he had planned, we began to tire. Ismark's sword became like lead in his hands. Our magic users were running out of energy. Ammo was scarce. Feeling as if he had us on the ropes, Strahd ceased to hide in the walls and faced us head-on. Our ranger had fallen unconscious and I could see terrible wounds on all except me. 
> 
> It was a bleak moment. I was deathly afraid. Afraid that my friends and brother were going to die and that I was going to be The Devil’s prisoner once more.
> 
> At that moment, however, something incredible happened. A woman in our group pulled a small platinum amulet and held it out towards The Devil. After closing her eyes, the amulet began to glow blue. Faint at first, but the light grew stronger and stronger until The Devil let out a noise somewhere between a scream and an animalistic snarl. His body froze like that, his fangs bared mid-scream, a clawed hand reaching out towards my brother. It was as if his entire body was paralyzed. 
> 
> I held my breath at that moment. The next seconds were harrowing, yet he still did not move. The blue light pulsed around him, but I could tell that it was beginning to waiver. Time was of the essence. With a scream of my own, I rushed forward, blade poised before me. The smell of burning flesh filled the air once more as the sunlight engulfed him. 
> 
> To the right of his navel, I plunged the sun sword. It met little resistance, much to my surprise, and the blade pierced his stomach as if it were no more than butter. Another unworldly scream escaped his unmoving lips. For a faint moment, it appeared as if there was sunlight beneath his skin. It poured out of his mouth and eyes like radiant beacons, and I could see his skin begin to bubble once more.
> 
> Like that, however, The Devil was gone. Through some inexplicable means, he had transformed into a cloud of mist before my very eyes. He is a shape changer, The Devil. Since he had begun harassing me, I had seen him transform into a variety of creatures. Every time we encountered a pack of wolves or a colony of bats, I was fearful of him being disguised in their midst. The mist swirled around my legs before it traveled south.
> 
> We followed him south through the catacombs, fighting through hordes of shadowy creatures and vermin every step of the way. My friend Ezmerelda, a self-proclaimed monster hunter, said that The Devil was most likely returning to his crypt to recover. We worked to intercept him at his coffin, yet even his crypt was filled with traps and trickery! We finally managed to get past the portcullis blocking his tomb just as the mist was seeping into his coffin.
> 
> His coffin was made of finely polished wood and was black like almost everything else of his. I didn't know what to expect in opening that lid; I had heard rumors that undead such as The Devil slept in coffins, but I had never witnessed it with my own eyes. What would he look like? Would he actually be inside? A hundred questions were racing through my mind. 
> 
> With trembling hands, Ezmerelda pushed aside the lid to The Devil's coffin.
> 
> Have you ever seen a dead body, Gertruda? I have, unfortunately, seen more than my fair share since I began that adventure. They do not look unlike the undead. There is an unforgettable waxy pallor to them, and their bodies can look anywhere from emaciated to bloated. Beneath that lid, The Devil looked no different than he had before. He had resumed his man form once more and his arms were crossed at his chest. His eyes were closed. Any outsider would have inferred that he was one of the true dead—and a fresh one at that. Despite having been struck several times, his body bore no cuts or bruises or blood. Yet where the sunlight had touched his flesh, I could see patches of charred skin slowly beginning to heal. 
> 
> Ezmerelda placed a stake in my hands and told me to finish it. All eyes were on me, and Ismark gave me an encouraging nod. My own hands, clammy and damp, trembled around the wood. I took a step closer to the coffin. 
> 
> Suddenly, The Devil’s eyes shot open. His eyes followed me as I stepped even closer. Yet there was no look of anger in them, or sadness, or any other emotion. They were void of any emotion at all, even as I raised that stake above my head. As cruel as it may sound, a small part of me had hoped to at least see something there. If not remorse for his actions and the suffering he has inflicted upon this land, then at least terror.
> 
> Yet it was not until I plunged the stake into his undead heart that anything crossed his face at all. Surprise, at first. His lips moved, and I could barely make out the sounds of a murmured name on his lips—a woman he has driven to her death centuries ago. A trembling hand reached out towards me, and from the corner of my eye I saw Ismark jump. Then, a look of what I could only describe as calmness washed over him, a look of peace. His brows and jaws slackened, and his eyes closed once more.
> 
> Something in my mind was screaming. _He didn’t deserve peace. This was a death far too pleasant for him._ He had stalked me, Gertruda. Killed the ones I loved. Kidnapped me. Abused me. He used me as a stand-in for his sick and twisted fantasies. And not only me, but countless other women. 
> 
> I don’t know what came over me in that instant; I have never been a violent person, nor a particularly vengeful one. I often recoil at the sight of blood and felt ill for days after taking my first life. Yet repeatedly the stake entered his chest, over and over and over again, until my throat was raw from screaming and The Devil’s body had turned to ash. It took Ismark’s firm hand on my shoulder to finally make me come to my senses. 
> 
> Even though all that remained in that coffin was ash and clothing, I still felt hyperalert. I still suspected that this had all been some sort of trick, that The Devil would reappear and jump out of some alcove in the catacombs to finish us off. That the castle would come crashing down or we would be transported to the Nine Hells along with him or _something._ A part of me refused to believe that it was over. Over four centuries of my people suffering, only for it to be over by my hand? I waited for that sense of relief to finally wash over me, but it was not until we had left the castle and I felt those rays of warmth on my face for the first time that I finally allowed myself to feel. I collapsed to the ground and wept tears of joy and relief and exhaustion for what felt like hours.
> 
> I lost too many friends throughout that endeavor, and my heart is still heavy. Yet they and everyone else that has ever dedicated their lives to seeing the destruction of The Devil did not die in vain.
> 
> I do not know why I keep referring to him as The Devil. I suppose old habits are hard to break. Yet ~~The Devil~~ _Strahd_ is dead. He has no power. He will have no power over this valley, over you or me or anyone else, ever again. He will merely be a bloody stain upon Barovia’s history.
> 
> Does it feel real to you, Gertruda? That Strahd is forever gone? It still does not feel entirely real to me despite having seen his ashed remains with my own two eyes. I still have nightmares of him. I dream of walking through a dark field of swirling mists, similar to the fogs of Barovia but indescribably dark and thick. Strahd does not stand before me, yet I can sense his presence intermingled with the mists. His cries of anguish carry on the stale breeze. In the distance, I can see huge, red eyes peering at me from above. They do not belong to Strahd, but to someone— _something—_ else. It whispers to me, yet I cannot make out the words. Inky clawed hands stretch out towards me, but I always wake up before they reach me. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still see those red eyes staring back at me.
> 
> Ismark blames the recurring nightmare on my imagination and my time being trapped in Castle Ravenloft, yet I cannot help but wonder if there is something more to it. I pray to the Morninglord that it simply is my imagination getting the better of me and not some dark omen. I do not think my heart could handle more darkness engulfing this land!
> 
> In any case, that is the story of how we finally put an end to the curse of Strahd von Zarovich and freed Barovia of the darkness that plagued him. I hope I did not forget anything. My head is still swimming even a day later. I believe a long vacation is certainly in order! If you would like to know further details, I am sure Ismark would be more than happy to tell you his perspective on what happened in Castle Ravenloft. I would tell you in person, but I will plausibly be miles away from Barovia by the time Ismark gets around to delivering this letter to you!
> 
> Ismark said that he will visit me once things begin to return to normal in Barovia Village—as normal as it gets for us, I suppose! I would very much like to read about how you have been doing, Gertruda, and I would be most pleased if you were to write me back. I am interested in hearing how your recovery has been and how Barovia Village has been faring in my absence. Perhaps you and your mother could come visit as well! I am sure that we would both have so many new stories to tell!
> 
> Take care, Gertruda, and please keep Ismark out of trouble for me. (He's quite stubborn!) You and the rest of Barovia Village are in my thoughts and prayers. 
> 
> Until we meet again,
> 
> Ireena Kolyana


End file.
